


A Simple Touch

by bronwe_iris



Category: Barbie, Barbie - All Media Types, Barbie in The Nutcracker (2001), Barbie movies
Genre: A little bit of angst, F/M, and hurt/comfort definitely in the later chapters, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 97,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8869843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bronwe_iris/pseuds/bronwe_iris
Summary: A collection of short stories that look at Clara and Eric's romance from an older audience's perspective, taking place before/during/after the movie. Lots of fluff and some hurt/comfort in later chapters. Probably will always be "in progress" as I'll just add short stories as inspiration comes.





	1. Reunion Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I love this movie, and was inspired when I recently re-watched it with my niece.

“Can’t sleep?”

The Nutcracker twisted around, surprise flickering in his eyes as he looked up at Clara. He gave a bitter laugh before turning back to the vast forest spanning out before them. “I’m a nutcracker. Sleep seems kind of pointless.”

Crossing the wooden platform that circled the treehouse she had just emerged from, Clara settled down beside the Nutcracker. She peered into the darkness below, unable to cease the nervous tensing of her body as she realized just how high up they really were. As though sensing her discomfort, the Nutcracker moved his hand closer to hers; gratefully, she grasped it. A quiet moment passed, and Clara squeezed the wooden hand she held before looking up at the smoothly carved face.

“You and I know you’re much more than that…Prince Eric.”

The Nutcracker’s eyes widened, and he swiftly turned to face her.

Clara tilted her head, studying the Nutcracker. She wondered how alike his human appearance was to his current form, if at all. “Why haven’t you told anyone?” she asked.

The Nutcracker’s shoulders drooped with a weary sadness, and he lowered his gaze. “I didn’t want to be the prince when I had the chance,” he admitted. He pulled away from Clara. “Now I don’t deserve to be.”

“That’s not true,” Clara said fiercely. She laid her hand on the Nutcracker’s shoulder. “You’re risking your life to save your kingdom. Isn’t that what princes do?”

The Nutcracker shook his head. “But my subjects think less of me than they do the Mouse King.” He sighed. “My only hope is to find the Sugar Plum Princess so she can restore my people’s happiness. I owe them that.”

“Eric…”

“Don’t,” the Nutcracker said sharply, shrugging off Clara’s hand. Seeing the hurt expression on Clara’s face, he softened his voice as he spoke next. “Please don’t call me that. I don’t need a reminder of what I used to be…of all that I lost.” Clara opened her mouth to speak, but the Nutcracker shook his head. “Besides,” he said. “It’s not about me now – it’s about everyone that’s suffered because of my selfishness. Major Mint, the villagers…they have every right to speak so ill of their prince.”

A deep sorrow in her eyes, Clara took the Nutcracker’s hand in both of hers and raised it to her cheek, caressing it gingerly. The Nutcracker watched her with a pained longing, though he refrained from moving closer.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak of yourself that way,” murmured Clara. “You deserve so much more than your unwarranted self-contempt.”

Unable to form words for a response, the Nutcracker closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, savoring Clara’s touch.

Clara lowered the Nutcracker’s hand to her lap, studying it. The paint, once a brilliant white, was beginning to dull, and multiple light scratches covered the Nutcracker’s hand. Only now in this quiet moment had Clara noticed how worn the Nutcracker truly was. Clara ran her thumb over a chip in the Nutcracker’s palm thoughtfully. “This body…can you feel pain?” she asked. Immediately she winced, feeling foolish for voicing the thought out loud. “That was a silly question. I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t.” The Nutcracker’s gaze caught hers, and he gave a sad smile. “If you mean just from being in this form, then no. Only during the…change it did.” He grimaced. “But in terms of if I were to be struck by a blade, it’s…strange. I can feel pain and other sensations, but they’re muted, as though I’m coated in a thick substance preventing me from feeling things as sensitively as human skin could.”

“That’s good though,” said Clara, trying to sound cheerful despite her lingering thoughts on the comment about his transformation. “Not feeling pain as easily.”

“I suppose,” the Nutcracker replied. His eyes traveled back to where Clara still had his hand enwrapped in hers. “But I would give almost anything to be able to feel things with my own flesh once again.” A long minute passed, with neither of the two removing their grip on the other. Then the Nutcracker shook himself and hastily pulled away. Startled by his sudden movement, Clara jerked back and snapped her head up to watch as the Nutcracker pushed himself to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said. A moment passed, and he gave a frustrated sigh. “Goodnight, Clara.”

“Eri- _Nutcracker_ ,” Clara called after him. But the Nutcracker was already gone. Her shoulders drooping in dejection, Clara tilted her head back and gazed up at the moon, trying to ignore the aching within her chest.

 /

The Mouse King was gone. Defeated.

But it didn’t matter – none of it did. Because the Nutcracker, her beloved Nutcracker, was dying.

She held him now, her arms awkwardly wrapped around his clunky body as she struggled to hold him upright. _Not now_ , she thought desperately. _Please, not like this._ “My poor Nutcracker,” she whispered brokenly.

The Nutcracker’s eyes drifted hazily to hers, and a mournful smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry about me, Clara. I’m just wood remember?”

Tears sprang to Clara’s eyes. “You and I know you’re much more than that.” Leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “ _Prince Eric_.” Clara straightened, and a sudden warmth sprang from beneath her palms. However, she quickly realized that it wasn’t coming from her, but from the Nutcracker.

Then he began to glow. Clara watched in stunned fascination as the Nutcracker’s limbs began to shrink and morph into human arms and legs. The magic continued to envelop his body until his head was engulfed as well. Then it completely died away, revealing a handsome young man. Short dark hair and piercing blue eyes – so like her dear Nutcracker’s – were the most prominent of his features, vaguely similar to his enchanted appearance and yet so different.

Awestruck, Clara’s mouth hung open as the man who had once been a nutcracker looked up at her. As their eyes met her lips curved upwards, and she stretched out her hand. A smile spread across Prince Eric’s face and he tentatively reached out. The moment their palms pressed against each other and Eric’s hand curved around Clara’s, overwhelming joy lit up the prince’s features. Clara helped him stand, and he could not help himself as he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it. Keeping her hand against his mouth he closed his eyes, reveling in the sensation of Clara’s skin against his own. Warm, soft, and pulsing with life – everything he had not been when trapped in his wooden body.

“Eric.”

Reluctantly, Eric lowered Clara’s hand and opened his eyes. She was beaming at him, gazing at him with a level of pride that he had never expected to see from anyone before Clara had entered his life. And it was then that he knew he would never be complete without her by his side. If he was to be king, Clara was the one he desired above all else to sit beside him on the throne.

If she would have him.

 /

It had been over a month. Nearly five weeks of agonized waiting to see her again.

For the first month, Eric had not been able to even begin the search for her. There had been too much to do in Parthenia, too much of the Mouse King’s damage to undo that if he had left, it would have been an unforgivable abandonment of his kingdom. And so he was forced to stay.

When Eric had initially retrieved Clara’s locket from the Mouse King’s body he had every intention to begin his search for Clara right then and there. However, Major Mint and Captain Candy had quickly intervened, assuring him that Clara was safe and that leaving now would do his kingdom no favors. Besides, time was different in her world. Perhaps, from her perspective, their reunion would take place only minutes after her departure. Or worse, thought Eric, years. It was hard to predict how time would react to the passing between the worlds, as it never happened the same way twice. But the thought of Clara waiting for years was too horrible, so he did not dwell on it.

An entire month passed before the kingdom was secure enough for their new king to leave. With a new council in place and Major Mint and Captain Candy left in charge during his absence, Eric was finally able to search for Clara. And he knew exactly where to begin.

The Snow Fairies were more than willing to assist their new king in finding the correct passage back to Clara’s home. In the magical walls between worlds there are rare cracks that one can use to travel between the realms. But one must know where to look in order to make use of them. Fortunately, the Snow Fairies were well versed in the art of world traveling.

The passage Eric and Clara had originally used by going through the mouse hole was far too small for Eric to use now. However, to Eric’s amazement, the fairies were able to find another crack that opened up not far from the one leading to the mouse hole.

He ended up emerging through an archway of entwining trees in a park. It was early in the morning, so he was lucky enough to not seen by anyone as he materialized out of thin air. A light layer of snow covered the ground, sparkling gently as rays from the morning sun touched its surface. There was a comforting serenity in the air, and the few people strolling through the park did so quietly, enjoying the fresh Christmas morning. The winter scenery was charming, but Eric’s desperation to find Clara snuffed out any desire to linger.

He needed to find Elizabeth Drosselmeyer. Once a dear friend of his father’s, she had been the one to carry Eric’s enchanted form to Clara’s home. He knew that if there was one person that would help him find Clara, it would be her.

“Eric?”

Surprise jolted through Eric, and he spun around. Upon seeing who had spoken his name, Eric's jaw gaped open. "Lady Elizabeth?"

A warm smile spread across Elizabeth Drosselmeyer's face. "So she managed to do it."

"Who…what?"

Elizabeth laughed. "My dear boy, close your mouth. You're a king now, aren't you? Do try to look the part."

Eric snapped his mouth shut. "Sorry. I just, I'm surprised to see you."

Elizabeth smiled affectionately and wrapped her arms around Eric, drawing him into an embrace. He heartily returned it, letting out a relieved breath at the familiar touch. Elizabeth pressed a kiss to Eric's temple, then pulled away. "I'm not," she said. "Magic seems to work in odd ways like that. Odd, but certainly convenient, if I do say so myself."

"I'd have to agree with you there," chuckled Eric. But the smile quickly faded, replaced by an expression of urgency. "Elizabeth please, Clara –"

"Is right where she was when the Mouse King first attacked her parlor," said Elizabeth. She stepped to the side, waving her hand in the direction of a street leading away from the park. "Shall we go see her?"

Exhilaration rose in Eric's chest. He offered his arm to Elizabeth, who wrapped her hand around it. "There's nothing I would love more."

 /

“But what about the presents?”

Tommy’s exclamation of protest was cut off as the door was firmly shut behind him, leaving Eric and Clara the only ones in the parlor.

Eric could not stop looking at her. Even in her nightgown and with her hair mused from sleep, she looked radiant. Yet now, finally alone with her, he didn’t know what to do. There were a million things he wanted to say, but none of them seemed capable of accurately expressing what he was feeling.

So instead he pulled out the locket. That which had been a symbol of hope to her and a reminder of what had been lost to him. Gently, he took her hand in his and dropped the necklace into her waiting palm. Clara’s eyes lit up upon seeing the locket, and she slowly ran a finger over it.

“I knew it was all real,” she whispered.

Eric drew the necklace from her grasp. He secured it around her neck, but did not pull his hands away once he was done. Soon they were wandering up her throat, tracing along her jawline and running across her cheek, as though he was determined to memorize every inch of her. Clara closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of the caress with a soft sigh.

Eric could wait no longer. He leaned down, pausing only when their mouths were barely an inch apart. Clara’s eyes flickered open, and upon seeing Eric’s intention, closed the gap herself by pressing her lips against his. Eric immediately melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Clara and drawing her against him. The relief of finding Clara and the heavenly feeling of her mouth on his was making it hard to think, so that when they finally did pull away it took him a moment to gather his bearings.

Clara grinned. “I do hope you don’t plan on doing that when Grandfather’s in the room. He’ll throw you out on the streets.”

A laugh burst from Eric. “I promise. But since he’s _not_ here at the moment…” Eric took a step away from Clara, then extended his hand towards her. “May I have this dance?”

Clara’s eyes sparkled as she placed her hand in his. “I couldn’t say no to the king.” Then they were off, twirling around the parlor as they basked in their moment of joy and reveled in the days to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EDIT: Upon uploading Chapter 17, I've realized that over the course of this fanfic, Eric and Elizabeth Drosselmeyer have become *much* closer than I had originally intended. So I'm editing their scene in Chapter 1 slightly to properly reflect their "updated" relationship I've given them.**


	2. Reunion Part II

While Tommy tore through the gifts beneath the Christmas tree, Clara excused herself to change out of her nightgown. She loathed to leave Eric’s side, for fear that she would come back to the parlor to find him gone, a cruel whisper of an unraveling dream. But when she returned from her room, wearing a simple powder blue dress, she was relieved to find Eric still there. He stood beside Elizabeth, watching with amusement as Tommy excitedly unwrapped his various new toys. Elizabeth leaned over and whispered something in Eric’s ear, prompting a soft chuckle from the young man. Warmth eased through Clara as she watched the interaction; she was grateful that Eric had not been left alone with her grandfather, who continued to scrutinize the newcomer with vague disapproval.

Clara’s shoes clicked gently on the parlor’s floorboards, immediately catching Eric’s attention. His eyes lit up as he caught sight of her, the joy in them so raw Clara wondered how her grandfather could not realize that she and Eric were so much more than newly introduced acquaintances. She smiled at Eric’s rather pathetic efforts to appear casual as he made his way to her side, his hands nearly twitching as he forced himself to not reach for her.

“You look beautiful,” he mouthed, careful to keep his back to Clara’s grandfather as he breathed the hushed words.

Clara thought Eric looked extremely handsome himself. But as she was facing her grandfather, who was eyeing them closely, she refrained from saying so.

“I’m terribly regretful that I had slept so late into the morning,” Clara commented, keeping her tone light. “Your walk sounded like a lovely idea, Aunt Elizabeth.” She glanced at her grandfather innocently. “If you don’t mind, Grandfather, I would love to show Eric Mulberry Park. With the new snowfall, I imagine it’s a breathtaking picture.”

Her grandfather looked like he would rather she had asked permission to set the Christmas tree on fire. “That is out of the question.”

“I agree,” said Eric. “It would hardly be appropriate if we went unchaperoned.”

Clara’s grandfather seemed surprised by that. Fresh respect flickered across his expression, and he gave a nod in Eric’s direction. Clara forced herself to hold back a sigh of relief; she wasn’t sure how courting was done in Parthenia, but she was grateful that Eric at least had some idea of what her grandfather would deem acceptable.

“I would be glad to accompany them,” Elizabeth said, her eyes twinkling with humor. “Another stroll sounds wonderful. After all, exercise is a great stimulate for the mind.”

Clara’s grandfather pressed his lips together, suspicious at this sudden turn of events. But as there were no reasonable objections left to be stated, he heaved a sigh and waved his hand impatiently. “Very well. But make it quick.”

“Of course,” Clara said. Eric held out his arm to her, and she looped her hand around it, resting her palm on his forearm. She gave a light squeeze, and the corner of Eric’s mouth twitched upwards.

“Come along, dears,” chimed Elizabeth. “And Tommy, love, do try to avoid provoking your grandfather’s temper while we’re gone. We all have to sit with him at Christmas dinner, and I’d rather not have him glaring at the turkey the entire time.” Ignoring Tommy’s offended outburst, she ushered Eric and Clara out of the parlor and towards the front door.

 / 

Mulberry Park was not nearly as deserted as it had been when Eric had first arrived earlier that morning. However, there was still a low enough number of people that Eric and Clara were able to walk without being disturbed. A few couples strolled ahead of them in the distance, the women’s brightly colored skirts vibrant against the glistening snow, and their footprints leaving a thin trail to follow.

Upon entering the park, Elizabeth had taken a sudden interest in one of the statues guarding the archway to the walking paths. “Ah, Pytor Llyich Tchaikovsky! A talented composer. How interesting that he should have a statue dedicated in this particular park.” She gave a wink. “Why don’t you two go on? I should like to read the plaque here, and I would hate to keep you waiting.”

Eric and Clara exchanged a smile. Together, they turned away and began down the snow-dusted pathway. They walked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, content with each other’s presence as they listened to the snow crunching beneath their feet and the faint tinkling of passing carriage bells. Then Eric’s arm gave a tremble, and Clara looked up at him in concern.

“Are you alright?”

Eric glanced at Clara sheepishly. “Yes.”

Clara frowned. Her gaze dropped to Eric’s clothes, and exasperated comprehension dawned on her face. “You’re cold.”

There was an embarrassed pause. “A little.”

Tightening her grip on Eric so that they drew closer, Clara shook her head. “Why didn’t you say anything? We can go back to the house, if you’d like.”

“I’d rather keep my distance from your grandfather as long as possible,” joked Eric. “He terrifies me.”

“More than the Mouse King?”

“Definitely.”

Clara laughed. “Well, I’m not surprised you’re cold. You’re hardly properly dressed for the weather. Where _did_ you get those clothes, anyway? They’re not exactly Parthenian fashion.”

“They were my father’s.” Seeing Clara’s confused expression, Eric elaborated. “He had visited your world _multiple_ times in his youth. Which is how he had come to be such good friends with your aunt. He had quite the fascination with this world, and liked to collect various trinkets from it. Naturally, he needed clothes that fit the style, and he had acquired quite the impressive wardrobe by the time he died.” Eric chuckled. “Unfortunately, I had forgotten to account for the fact that here, snow is cold.”

“Yes, I see that,” grinned Clara.

“And wet. _Wet_ snow, Clara. How do you stand it?”

“It is a trial, I must admit,” Clara said with mock exhaustion. “But we manage somehow.”

Eric laughed. He flexed his fingers, trying to cease their shivering.

Clara moved to cover Eric’s hands with her own. “No gloves either?” she chided gently. “What am I going to do with you?”

Emboldened by the playfulness of their conversation, the response tumbled out before he could stop it. “Kiss me?”

Worry crept up within him that he was pushing Clara too far. The amount of interaction they had had since he had been restored to his human form was still so very little, and he wanted to be sure Clara was comfortable around him. Never mind that Clara was of a more reserved nature, so asking such a question didn’t feel appropriate in such a public setting, in comparison to the privacy of her parlor. For reasons he didn’t understand, her world seemed stricter about those types of things than Parthenia.

But Clara didn’t seem bothered by the request. Keeping her hands clamped over Eric’s, she raised herself on her toes and pressed her lips against his. Eric smiled against her mouth, his breath mingling with hers as he returned the kiss. Clara moved closer, bringing their entwined hands against her chest as she ran her thumb over Eric’s knuckles, the soft fabric of her gloves a comfort against the winter chill.

With a satisfied exhale, Clara’s eyes flickered open. “Feel warmer?”

Eric nudged her nose with his own. “Somewhat.” He straightened and fell quiet, his eyes searching Clara’s face as his brow furrowed.

She frowned. “What is it?”

Eric bit his lip, hesitant to answer. “Clara, after you saved me, and righted all of the wrongs the Mouse King had done, I had asked you to stay with me. Maybe it was too soon to ask, and even though you had given me an answer –” He paused, a mixture of desperate hope and violent longing stirring in his eyes. “An answer that made me that happiest I had ever been in my entire life, I don’t want you to feel obligated to stand by what you had said. If, now that you are back home, you wish to stay here…do so. Do whatever makes you happy.” He sucked in a nervous breath. “But know that my feelings have not changed; my deepest desire is for you to be with me, as my queen. I love you.”

Clara’s head was swimming from the euphoria swelling inside her. Everything felt so right, _Eric_ felt so right to her – how could she possibly reject him? Her mouth widened into a bright smile. “Of course my answer is still yes.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “I love you too.”

Blinding happiness broke through Eric’s expression. With an elated shout, he wrapped his arms around Clara’s waist, lifting her up and spinning her around before bringing her close for another kiss. Clara just laughed, running her hands through Eric’s hair and down his neck, hardly daring to believe that all of this had happened – that he had come for her, and that he truly loved her.

When they had composed themselves, they caught sight of Elizabeth in the distance, casually making her way towards them.

“Your family can come to Parthenia too, of course,” said Eric. He took Clara’s arm once again.

Clara smirked. “Even Grandfather?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Besides, he’ll be good company for Major Mint.”

Amused at the thought, Clara tried to picture the two men sharing a friendly conversation. “I fear that Grandfather is too serious even for Major Mint.”

“I think they would be good for each other.”

“I think you overestimate my Grandfather’s patience.”

Eric merely smiled. “We’ll have to see. I won’t worry though – not as long as you’re there.”

Clara pursed her lips, once again lacing her fingers through Eric’s. “That sounds like a lot of pressure for me.”

“Don’t worry, I know plenty of secret passages that lead out of the castle. We can slip away whenever we like.”

“ _Eric._ ”

He laughed, and Clara couldn’t help but join in.

“Merry Christmas, Eric.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”


	3. A Parthenian Christmas Part I

_One year later…_

Winter sunlight streamed through the window, pouring onto the crumpled bedsheets in pools of pale yellow. Eric blinked against the morning glare, shifting groggily as the heaviness of sleep was lifted from him. He turned onto his side, and his lips curved into a smile.

Clara was facing away from him in her sleep, her hair spilling over both her and Eric’s pillows in golden ribbons. She was wearing a simple white nightgown, but the sleeve had been pulled down partway in her sleep, exposing the smooth skin of her shoulder. Eric moved closer to his wife and pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder. Rubbing a hand down her arm, he placed another kiss on the skin between her shoulder and neck. Clara shifted beneath the touch, emitting a soft sigh.

“Eric…” murmured Clara drowsily. “Eric, I was sleeping…”

“Sorry, love,” whispered Eric. “But you looked so beautiful. Really, it wasn’t fair to me. What else was I supposed to do?”

Clara chuckled. She turned over so that she was facing her husband. “You’re ridiculous, has anyone told you that?”

“Multiple people have. Mostly you, though.”

Clara shook her head in amusement. Then she frowned. “When did you come to bed last night? You promised you weren’t going to be long, but I’m afraid I fell asleep waiting for you.”

“Yes, I noticed.”

“So how late then?” pressed Clara.

Eric shrugged. “Late. I don’t know.”

“Eric.” Clara’s frown deepened in concern.

“There was work to be done. I couldn’t leave it.”

“You’re overworking yourself.”

“Nonsense.” Eric pressed a light kiss to her neck, letting his lips linger there.

Clara sighed at the blissful sensation. Reluctantly, she pushed him away. “We should get ready for breakfast. You know how Masha gets when we’re late. Cinnamon rolls taste terrible when cold, as she’s told us multiple times.”

“I think we can wait a little longer.” That last word trailed off into a mumble as Eric pressed his mouth to Clara’s.

A happy noise emanated from Clara and, relenting, she sunk her fingers into his hair to pull him close.

/

“I was beginning to wonder if you had taken ill,” commented Masha as she set a tray of toast on the table.

Clara gave Eric a look of exasperation. “I told you,” she mouthed.

Eric chuckled. “Sorry Masha,” he said cheerfully. “It was my fault. I was being rather lazy this morning, I’m afraid.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” huffed the castle's head cook. She waved impatiently at the table. “Oh, hurry up and sit before the food gets cold.”

They were in the smaller dining hall, meant for private meals. All that had been placed on the table this morning were a few simple breakfast dishes. But simplicity never detracted from quality in Masha’s cooking, and Clara felt her stomach rumble as she neared it.

“It smells marvelous, as usual, Masha,” praised Eric.

Masha brushed at her apron, looking pleased.

Clara frowned in confusion, noting the extra dish set that had been laid out. “But who is the third set for?”

“For me, of course!”

Clara spun around at the familiar voice. “Aunt Elizabeth!” Grinning broadly, Clara rushed into her aunt’s outstretched arms. “Oh, how ever did you manage to visit so close to Christmas?”

“Luck, and perhaps a little extra magic,” answered Elizabeth Drosselmeyer with a wink. “I simply couldn’t miss your first Christmas in Parthenia. I had to make sure it was done properly, after all.” She turned to Eric and embraced him, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Eric dear, how are you?”

“Fine, Elizabeth,” smiled Eric. “And you?”

“Bored,” declared Elizabeth with a dramatic wave of her hand. “There is little to do at home, and the weather is simply dreadful. So I thought I’d take a small holiday.”

“How are Grandfather and Tommy?” asked Clara.

“Your grandfather is as ridiculous as ever. Tommy is maturing…slowly. He misses his sister though,” she added warmly.

Clara sobered at that. When she had accepted Eric’s proposal, she had not _truly_ been expecting her grandfather to accompany her to Parthenia, even if the idea had been amusing. Her grandfather was not a man friendly to change. It was hard enough for him to accept the idea of Clara going off to some “strange country” to marry a boy he barely approved of. He eventually warmed to Eric, but asking him to allow Tommy to live in Parthenia was out of the question. Tommy was to grow under his grandfather’s guidance, to become a proper man suitable for society. Clara saw her brother as often as she could, but it sometimes became difficult, due to the time shifts that accompanied world traveling.

“Perhaps Grandfather will allow Tommy to visit in the near future,” Clara said, hope tinging her words.

“I’ll see what I can do,” reassured Elizabeth. “Don’t worry, Clara – Tommy will visit soon enough.”

Clara nodded. “Are you hungry?” She gestured to the table. “I apologize; I should have invited you to sit earlier.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Though I certainly will be sampling breakfast. Masha’s cooking alone is reason enough to come,” she teased.

“Thank you, my lady,” Masha said proudly. Holding a large teapot, she bent forward and filled Elizabeth’s cup. The pink drink sent up wisps of hot steam, carrying with it the faint scent of peppermint and vanilla.

Breakfast was pleasant, with everyone engaging in cheerful conversation. Eric seemed quieter than usual, and Clara couldn’t help but notice just how tired he looked in the morning light. But she refrained from commenting, not wishing to embarrass him in front of her aunt.

Afterwards, Eric, Clara, and Elizabeth made their way towards the main library. As they approached it, the sounds of muffled shouting could be heard from the other side of the closed doors.

“Oh no,” muttered Eric with a rueful smile. He opened the door, revealing a disgruntled Captain Candy and red-faced Major Mint. The two turned towards the doorway at the intrusion; upon seeing who was standing there, Major Mint stormed forward.

“Your Majesties, Lady Drosselmeyer, thank goodness! I was hoping to discuss this with a person of _sense_.”

“Sense?” exclaimed Captain Candy. “Sense is the last thing anyone would attribute to _you_! It is impossible to speak rationally to someone with such a high opinion of themselves that they no longer are capable of seeing reason!”

Major Mint opened his mouth to retort, but Eric quickly held up his hand. “What seems to be the matter, gentlemen?”

“It’s the decorations for the Christmas party,” said Captain Candy. “Major Mint _insists_ that the proper colors for Christmas are blue and red, but I know for a fact that they are _green_ and red! How are we to hold a proper Christmas celebration if this halfwit cannot even get the simple colors right?”

“ _Halfwit_?” roared Major Mint. “I’ll show you halfwit, you…you incompetent cad!”

“Old, stuffed windbag!”

“Cheeky, good-for-nothing blaggard!”

“Oh dear…” Clara pressed a hand to her cheek, shaking her head. There was a gentle tap on her shoulder, and she turned to see Eric gesturing for her to follow him.

“Before they notice,” he whispered with a wink.

Clara looked at Elizabeth, who quickly shooed at them with her hands. Certain that her aunt would set the matter straight between Major Mint and Captain Candy, Clara grinned and took Eric’s hand, allowing him to pull her into the hallway.

“This way.” Eric tugged her further away from the escalating sounds of the squabble.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere new.” With confidence befitting a king, and the excitement of a lover, Eric led her to a niche in the corner of the hallway.

Built into the niche was the statue of a women dressed in flowing robes; in her hand she held the branch of a holly tree. Keeping one hand entwined in Clara’s, Eric grasped the holly branch with the other and pulled down. There was the sound of stone grinding against the marble floor as the statue rotated, revealing an opening in the wall wide enough for a single person to squeeze through.

“You’ve never shown me this passage before,” said Clara curiously.

Looking rather proud, Eric stepped aside and waved his hand. “After you.”

Clara slipped through the gap easily. Eric quickly followed; once inside, he pulled a second lever on the inside of the passageway. The hidden door closed, plunging them into darkness.

“ _Illustrant_ ,” Eric whispered.

A small torch on the wall immediately lit itself in response to the incantation, it’s icy blue flame blanketing the passage in a wintery glow. Sparsely-placed torches quickly followed, lighting a pathway before them.

“I’m certain I’ll never get tired of magic,” commented Clara wistfully.

“I wish we would use it more frequently,” Eric admitted. “And not just for small things.”

Clara threaded her fingers back through Eric’s. “Come now, dear. We both know exactly what happens when one uses powerful magic too much. That scepter is best used only in real necessity.”

Eric grimaced, and Clara gave his hand a squeeze. “Besides,” she added. “If we relied on magic for _everything_ , I’m afraid we’d become terribly lazy.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” chuckled Eric. He gave her hand a gentle tug. “Come, I have something to show you.”

He pulled her down the passageway, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls.

“I do hope Aunt Elizabeth is able to sort everything out,” said Clara. “Perhaps we shouldn’t have planned a Christmas celebration. After all, it’s not even a holiday celebrated in Parthenia.”

“Of course we should celebrate it,” Eric said. “Everyone in the castle is looking forward to it. Both Major Mint and Captain Candy highly respect your aunt; she’ll be able to handle them with little difficulty.”

“I suppose.”

“And I wouldn’t have insisted on the celebration if I didn’t think it was a good idea,” said Eric. He looked back at her and smiled. “We don’t have much farther now.”

Clara glanced down at Eric’s hand, suddenly realizing how hot it felt. “Are you alright? Your skin feels oddly warm.”

Eric’s grip on her faltered momentarily. “I’m fine, Clara.”

Clara pressed her lips together, suspicious. But before she could press him, they turned a corner and emerged through a stone archway into a shimmering, empty room.

The walls were made from material that looked like frosted mirror glass, curving gracefully to create a rounded dome shape. The floor was white smooth stone, providing cloudy reflections of those peering into it. Hovering all around them were tiny particles of light, no larger than fireflies. The lights drifted lazily through the air, twinkling softly.

“This place is _beautiful_ , Eric!” exclaimed Clara. She all but yanked Eric into the center of the room in her excitement, spinning them around as she twisted to get a full view of the place.

Eric laughed. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

“Why haven’t you brought me here before?”

“I wanted to save it for a special occasion. Christmas Eve seemed like a good idea.”

“It’s perfect,” Clara said, pulling Eric into a kiss. But she broke it off quickly, looking at him in concern. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re so warm.”

“It’s probably just exertion from escaping Major Mint and Captain Candy,” said Eric lightly. “But enough fretting over me. Do you want to dance?”

Clara nodded, forcing the concern from her mind. If Eric insisted he was fine, she would trust his judgment.

Eric raised his hand and snapped his fingers twice in quick succession. Immediately a soft, tinkering song began to play.

“What…?” wondered Clara. Then she realized that the music was coming from the floating lights, each of which were a different music note that, when flashed, played their part in the song.

“Did you make all this?” Clara asked, mesmerized.

Eric took Clara’s hand and swept her off into a gentle waltz. “No, I found it when I was a boy. The only thing added was the music. And I had a _lot_ of help with that. It’s a much more complicated charm than one would expect.”

“I don’t doubt it,” said Clara. “Thank you. This is wonderful.”

Eric simply smiled. They danced for a while, and Clara’s thoughts wandered back to their first dance they shared after Eric’s curse had been broken. She had been cautious and awed around his new form, while he was eager, yet careful. They had come so far since then.

But Eric was quickly tiring now. Clara noticed it after the first song had finished, and halfway through the second one she tugged him to a stop.

“Is everything alright?” asked Eric. He sounded exhausted, even though Clara could tell he was desperately trying to hide it.

Clara grimaced, tightening her hand in his. “Eric, I appreciate this – _immensely_. But it’s clear that something is wrong with you. We’re going back and fetching a doctor.”

Eric sighed. “I’m just a little tired, Clara.”

Clara shook her head. “No, you’re not.” Keeping her hand linked to his, she led him towards the archway. “Come on, let’s go.”

Reluctantly, Eric followed her back into the tunnel. They only went a little way before Clara felt Eric’s grip slackening. Alarmed, Clara turned around. “Eric?”

Eric placed a hand against the wall to steady himself. He was hunched over slightly, his chest heaving as he fought for breath. Clara hurried to his side, pushing his hair back to get a better look at his face. The color had all but drained from it, and he looked like he was about to be sick.

“Eric, what is it?” asked Clara desperately.

“Clara…” Eric slurred. “Something’s wrong…” Then he slid down the wall, his body going limp against Clara as she struggled to break his fall.

“Eric! _Eric_!”


	4. A Parthenian Christmas Part II

It took a few minutes, but Clara managed to partially revive Eric. He was too dazed to walk on his own, and so Clara had him lean against her as they stumbled through the passage and back into the castle hallway. By the time a kitchen maid found them, Eric had slumped fully into unconsciousness. Servants were frantically called for, and Eric was carried to his and Clara’s rooms. A doctor arrived soon after, and Clara was left waiting in the adjoining antechamber to her and Eric’s bedroom with Elizabeth.

“I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” reassured her aunt.

Clara shook her head, pacing in front of the sofa Elizabeth was sitting on. “But what if it is?” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “It came on so suddenly. He was fine this morning…” She glanced at her aunt. “You’ve known him almost his entire life, Aunt Elizabeth. Is this something that’s happened before?”

Elizabeth grimaced. “No,” she admitted. “Not something this severe. Eric was not one to catch a sickness easily.”

Clara groaned, running a hand through her hair.

“It will be alright, dear,” said Elizabeth. She stood and placed a hand on Clara’s arm. “I promise. Doctor Astros has been attending to the royal family since before Eric was born. He’s in good hands.”

The door connecting to the bedroom opened, and the doctor stepped into the room.

“How is he?” Clara asked anxiously.

Doctor Astros tugged at his coat, straightening it. “Irritable, but fine. It’s nothing more than a fever and a rather nasty cold. He’s showing signs of extreme fatigue. I managed to get him to confess that he hasn’t been sleeping much lately. I’m assuming his body simply shut down from the combination of the illness and the strain he’s been under.”

Clara sighed. “He has been rather busy as of late.”

Doctor Astros smiled wryly. “Perhaps mentioning his collapse isn’t the wisest idea at the moment. It was a perfectly normal reaction for a body under such stress, but he seems a tad…embarrassed by it.”

No longer plagued by worry for her husband, Clara rolled her eyes.

“I’ve left medication by the bedside, along with written instructions,” continued the doctor.

“I’ll see to it that he’s properly taken care of,” said Clara. “Thank you.”

Doctor Astros nodded. “Send for me if he worsens, or if the fever doesn’t break by tomorrow. But he should be fine after a couple days’ bedrest.”

Clara scrunched up her nose. “Oh, dear. Does he know about that?”

“About being confined to his bedchambers for the next few days? Yes, he knows. Though he may need some…persuasion to actually heed the advice.” Something teetering between amusement and exasperation glinted in his eyes. “He was difficult to treat as a child, and he hasn’t improved much since. But perhaps he will listen if _you_ speak with him.”

“I’ll make sure he comes to his senses,” promised Clara. “Thank you again, doctor.”

Doctor Astros bowed and took his leave. Clara turned to Elizabeth, tears of relief in her eyes.

“See? Nothing to fret over, dear,” Elizabeth said. She stood and patted her niece’s arm. “Though I wish you luck convincing him to stay put. That boy can be difficult.”

“I’m not worried,” Clara said, her voice breathy as she regained her composure. “I can handle him.” Elizabeth smiled warmly and left the room, promising to see Clara at dinner. Feeling steadier, Clara turned and pushed open the door to her and Eric’s room.

Eric lay in their bed, propped up by pillows and covered by a thick blanket. He was pale, and a sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead. He appeared to be sleeping, but as Clara approached, his eyes flickered open.

“Clara…” Her name was no more than an exhausted whisper.

Clara’s shoulders drooped in sympathy as she settled onto the edge of their bed. “Hello, love,” she murmured, brushing her hand against his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m dying,” murmured Eric, though Clara knew him well enough to discern the sarcastic humor behind the statement.

Clara huffed out a short laugh. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“It’s true.” A tired smile lined Eric’s lips. “You’ll have to find someone else to rule Parthenia. Masha, perhaps.”

Clara made a mock offended noise. “I can manage well enough on my own, thank you.”

Eric chuckled, but the sound was interrupted by a hacking cough. “Apologies, dearest,” he managed, once the coughing had subsided. “I’m sure you’ll do exceedingly well.”

“The throne room will need redecorating,” said Clara. She reached for the bowl of water that had been placed on the bedside table. Plucking a washcloth from it, she wrung it out and dabbed at Eric’s forehead. “Those ghastly banners will be the first to go.”

“Those have been there for generations,” Eric protested. “They must stay, no matter how ugly they are.”

“So you admit they are hideous.”

Eric pressed his lips together, glaring at her. Clara grinned and pressed a kiss to his forehead, though she couldn’t help cringing at the heat of his skin. “I’m afraid my independent reign will have to wait. Doctor Astros said that after few days bedrest you’ll be perfectly fine.”

A groan escaped Eric. “Bedrest. How perfectly boring. Besides, I have too much work to do. Taking a couple days’ holiday for Christmas is one matter, but afterwards?” He shook his head, coughing. “I can’t.”

“I shall manage affairs,” assured Clara. “And you shall stay here.”

“Clara…”

“I won’t hear another word against it.”

Eric frowned. “You sound like my childhood nanny.”

“ _You_ sound like a child.”

Eric made an annoyed expression. “I rarely took ill as a boy,” he said. “And certainly not as easily as this.” His lips twisted with discomfort. “And I’ve never…” The words trailed off.

“Passed out from an illness?” Clara provided gently.

Eric sighed.

Clara rubbed the washcloth across his temple to catch the sweat there. “Everyone gets sick, darling.”

Eric shook his head. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Not like this.” He hesitated, conflict in his eyes as he debated continuing. “In the weeks during our separation, after you had broken my curse and been returned to your home, I did extensive reading in the library. About curses, and how they can affect mortals even after they’ve been lifted.” He focused his gaze on the blazing fireplace opposite the bed. “Mortal bodies aren’t meant to sustain heavy magic for so long, especially of such a dark nature. It’s an unnatural violation, one that can leave lasting effects.”

Fear pooled in Clara’s stomach. She set aside the washcloth and grasped Eric’s hand. “What effects?” she whispered, afraid to ask.

Eric shrugged, then grimaced at the protest of his aching body. “It differs, depending on the curse and the person who had been cursed. Though occasional fatigue and a weaker immunity seemed to be the more common ones.”

Clara ran her thumb over the back of his hand. “So you think this is because the curse left your body weaker than before.”

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

She certainly didn’t want it to. The idea of the curse still affecting Eric, even if it was in a manner as meager as occasional weariness, was appalling. “Could this not be a simple illness?” she insisted.

Another coughing fit racked Eric’s body. Clara tugged her hand from his, moving it to his back and rubbing soothingly. The fit passed quickly, and Eric sunk back into the pillows.

“It just…makes sense…” he muttered.

“ _Sense_ is not a word I would lightly associate with magic,” said Clara pointedly. “It is highly unpredictable. Besides, you found no aftereffects of curses that were _life-threatening_ in that book, correct?”

“I suppose.”

Clara nodded triumphantly. “Then there is little to worry about. We will have no more talk of curses, for if you worsen because of stress, I shall have to deal with Doctor Astros. And I really would rather not, as he is a pleasant man and I should hate to see him angered.”

Eric smiled ruefully. “Very well.”

“And you will stay in bed for the next couple days,” ordered Clara. “Or I shall…I shall…have the doors to this chamber barred shut from the outside.”

Eric gave a sound that was both a laugh and a cough. “If you insist.”

Clara smoothed Eric’s hair. “I do. And,” she added dangerously. “No more working into the early hours of the morning. You and I are to rule _together_ ; you must allow me to carry an equal amount of the responsibility. I won’t have you falling ill simply because you are being a stubborn mule.”

“Stubborn _mule_?”

Clara narrowed her eyes at him.

“Fine,” smirked Eric. “As you command, my queen.”

Clara shook her head in exasperation. She continued to stroke his hair, hoping to bring comfort. Eric leaned into her touch, relieved by her cool skin on his.

“I’m sorry my surprise didn’t go as well as planned,” Eric said after a while.

“It was perfect. But we’ll go back when you’re feeling better, so we can properly enjoy it.”

“Perhaps you should sleep somewhere else until I recover.” Worry for her weakened his already faint voice. “I don’t want you catching whatever this is.” His expression fell. “I’ve already been around you too much today.”

“I feel perfectly fine. I don’t even feel tired.” A mischievous sort of grin pricked her lips. “After all, I apparently have some magic of my own, and it seems to be doing a fine job protecting me.”

“…I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

Clara lifted her chin in playful defiance. “Of course it is.”

Eric smiled. “And is the Sugar Plum Princess sure she wants to share her bed with a sickly king?”

Without hesitation, Clara kicked off her shoes. She slipped beneath the blankets and laid her head on Eric’s chest, wrapping one arm around him. “There is nowhere else I would rather be.”

/

“Eric, move your legs.”

“Should not _I_ have priority over space on the mattress? I am the one who’s ill.”

Clara placed a hand on the lump beneath the blankets that was Eric’s leg and gave it a shove, eliciting a cry of protest from him.

“I’m working,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I didn’t ask you to…do _this_ …” Eric said, waving his arm in a sweeping arc over the mess of paperwork spread out over the blankets. Clara sat in the midst of it all, her skirt splayed out in all directions. Her hair had been pulled up in a simple twist, but it was slowly coming undone, as she had a habit of tugging at the golden strands when thinking. Eric loved watching the unconsciously done act, smirking as the coiled hair gradually loosened.

Ignoring her husband, Clara scribbled a note in the book laid open on her lap.

“You shouldn’t be working at all,” huffed Eric. “It’s Christmas Day.”

“Yes, a day that had no meaning in Parthenia a year ago,” Clara remarked lightly. “It is a holiday that only your wife had been planning on celebrating.”

Eric coughed. “The whole castle had been planning on it.”

Clara gave the quill in her hand an unconcerned wave. “I don’t mind postponing what was meant to be a small celebration. It’s only for a couple days.”

“Because of me.”

“I’d rather you be well during it,” said Clara. “And I told you I would handle matters until you had recovered. Now hush, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Eric leaned forward and kissed his wife’s cheek. Clara impatiently waved him off, but she couldn’t hold back a grin as she did so.

“You seem to be in much better spirits this afternoon,” she said. “And your fever is gone, thank heavens.”

“Must be that magic touch of yours.”

“Must be,” laughed Clara. “Or maybe it’s because you slept so late.” She grabbed one of the documents on the bed and tossed it at him. “Since you no longer are on your deathbed, why don’t you make yourself useful and review that? It needs to be signed and sent off by tomorrow.”

Eric took the paper with a mock sigh.

Clara tilted her head, scrutinizing his still pale complexion. “And drink Masha’s tea. She will have a fit if she comes back with lunch and you haven’t finished it.”

“Maybe a kiss will motivate me.”

“Maybe I’ll take all of my work to the library and leave you to fend for yourself.”

“On Christmas Day?”

Clara smiled and picked up the steaming teacup from the bedside table. “Drink,” she ordered, holding it out.

Eric made a face, but he took the cup. Satisfied, Clara shifted closer to Eric so that they were sharing the same pillow. She bent her knees and adjusted the records book on them. “Now be quiet,” she said.

Eric obligingly did not reply. Instead, he placed a kiss to the top of Clara’s head, happy to be ill if it meant spending the rest of the day like this.

/

When Clara woke three days later, she was surprised to find herself alone. It was usually she who woke the earliest, so to see only an impression in the mattress of where Eric had lain was odd to her.

“Eric?” she called out.

No answer.

Frowning, Clara got out of bed and slipped on some shoes and a morning robe over her nightgown. She peered into the adjoining washroom, but it too was empty. Confused, and vaguely concerned, she made her way down to the private dining hall, hoping Eric was there. He had made remarkable lengths towards his recovery over the past few days, but she still worried that he may push himself too far before his body was ready.

The castle seemed oddly quiet. Where was everybody? Shaking her head, Clara pushed open the door to the dining hall.

“MERRY CHRISTMAS!”

Clara jumped at the sudden chorus of jubilant voices shouting the greeting. At the far end of the hall was an enormous Christmas tree, decorated with beaded strings, glass ornaments, ribbon, and orbs that glowed magically. At the top of the tree danced a porcelain ballerina. Streaming lengths of scarlet and emerald cloth had been hung elegantly along the walls of the room, and the ceiling had been magicked so that it appeared as though snowflakes were drifting down upon them. The dining table, weighed down by numerous holiday dishes, was additionally adorned with holly and red candles.

Standing in front of the tree were a dozen of her closest friends, including Major Mint, Captain Candy, and, of course, Elizabeth. Eric was at the front of the group, wearing a pine green and gold-trimmed formal outfit. He beamed as he strode forward and took her in his arms, giving her a kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Clara,” he whispered in her ear.

“Merry Christmas, Eric.” She looked up at Eric joyfully. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you,” he smiled.

Clara placed a hand against Eric’s cheek, inspecting him. His complexion had lost its pallor, and his eyes looked bright and alert. Overall he seemed fully recovered, save for a slight weariness in the way he held himself. But a few more nights of sound sleep would easily remedy that.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Wonderful,” said Eric honestly.

Smiling in relief, and feeling satisfied that the illness was finally gone, Clara took his hand and tugged him towards everyone.

Elizabeth embraced her fiercely. “Merry Christmas, my darling girl.”

“Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth,” said Clara. “I’m so happy you were able to be here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for anything,” declared her aunt.

“Come, come!” exclaimed Major Mint. “There are presents to be opened and food to be eaten. Let us proceed with the celebrations!”

Eric gave Clara’s hand a squeeze. They smiled at each other, happily joining their friends before the Christmas tree.


	5. Consequences Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annddd here’s the inevitable angst. Characters with even a hint of Tragic Backstory intrigue me so much. (Note: I gave the Peppermint Girl and Gingerbread Boy the names Pepper and Gillis, because I can let the names Major Mint and Captain Candy slide, but Peppermint Girl and Gingerbread Boy are too much. So they’re getting real names)

Clara walked briskly down the castle corridors, tying back a few pieces of her hair with a ribbon so that none of it swept into her face, though it continued to cascade down her back. It was an early spring morning, and most of the castle windows were open, filling the place with a crisp freshness that Clara breathed in happily.

She, Eric, and Captain Candy were to lead a basket donation this afternoon. It was hardly a new event; they had been doing it for almost a year now, after Eric and Clara and thought of it during one of their late-night discussions in the library. Every month, they would go to a different village in the kingdom with wagons full of baskets and donate them to the people there. The baskets were packed with simple – but very much needed – items such as clothes, food, and medical supplies.

Even though it had been over a year since his defeat, many of the villages still suffered from the damage done by the Mouse King. Their homes were being rebuilt, but slowly, thus forcing some villagers to live together in cramped houses or face homelessness. Eric and Clara did what they could, working hard to continually direct finances towards the rebuilding and replenishing of villages, but it was a long process. And so they donated baskets, in hopes that it would offer some relief to those in need.

Servants had been working throughout the morning to fill the wagons, and Clara and Eric were to depart soon for the Gingerbread Village. If only she could find him. He had wandered off with Captain Candy after breakfast, and she hadn’t seen them since. But she had an idea where they might have gone.

Rounding a corner in the hall, she stopped in front of the main library’s doors. She pressed her lips together, hoping her hunch was right as she pushed them open.

Captain Candy sat in a large armchair, looking relaxed yet still formal with his legs crossed in front of him. On the sofa opposite of the chair was Eric, who was casually slouched sideways, his long legs draping over one armrest while he leaned against the other. Captain Candy said something too quiet for Clara to hear properly, though she was able to pick up Major Mint’s name being spoken. Eric threw back his head and laughed loudly in response to whatever was said.

“Well!” Clara exclaimed as she approached. “I do hope you two aren’t planning to do anything devious to poor Major Mint. His nerves are already so fragile.” She looked pointedly at her husband. “No thanks to you, dear. The major has been more than generous in his share of stories he’s told me about you as a boy.” She crossed her arms. “And it sounds like you were an absolute nightmare during his lessons.”

Eric gave a rather roguish grin. “Not at all,” he said innocently. “I’ve always been nothing but respectful to the major.”

Captain Candy snorted.

“I’m sure,” Clara said sarcastically. She placed one hand on her hip. “Well then, are we going? Or would you rather sit here and chat the day away?”

Eric swung his legs down to the floor and stood. “And let you go by yourself? We can’t do that.” He went to his wife and took her arm. “Besides, if we stayed here, the major would probably find us. And then we’d never leave the library, trapped by one of his rants.”

Captain Candy nodded. “Once he kept us here for nearly two hours.”

“How perfectly dreadful,” said Clara mockingly. “Perhaps you two could learn something from him. He does have some wisdom worth heeding, you know.”

Eric raised his finger and gave it a single wave. “ _Some_ being that key word.”

“You are both terrible,” Clara said.

Eric chuckled. “Yes, I suppose we are. Don’t worry, the major is safe from any mischief from us. For now.”

Clara sighed and pulled her husband towards the library doors. “Come along, the both of you, before any more mischievous ideas enter either of your heads.”

/

The notion of Eric once being a hated prince was a difficult one for Clara to grasp. As they monitored the distributing of baskets to the villagers lined up in the main courtyard of the Gingerbread Village, most of the people who approached Eric did so with great respect and admiration. Many thanked him for what he was doing, some even comparing him to his father. That particular correlation made Eric’s face brighten immensely, and he would become slightly flustered with whoever paid the compliment. One elderly plump lady was particularly motherly and affectionate with him, to the point that Clara finally had to intervene before Eric was taken back to the woman’s house and fed her apparently famous lemon cakes.

The hours went by easily, as the atmosphere of the courtyard was lightened by the chattering of eager villagers. There were a few solemn faces, and Clara took special care to ask them if there were any other needs they had.

The sun slowly crept its way across the sky; it would not be long before it began its descent. But Clara wasn’t worried as, gradually, the line was shortening, and they still had plenty of baskets.

“You! You’re the cause of all this!”

Eric and Clara turned at the sudden shout. A middle-aged man was striding forward, fury etched into his weathered features as he glared at Eric. He wore clothes that were faded and heavily patched, and his graying hair hung unevenly about his shoulders. He was leading a thin girl by the hand who looked just as tattered and filthy as him, with bare feet that stumbled unevenly over the ground as she struggled to keep up.

Two guards immediately stepped forward, swords drawn as they shielded their king and queen from the man. A third guard moved forward and grabbed the man’s arm, yanking him back.

“Stop!” commanded Eric. “Do not harm him.”

Though he looked like he wanted to object, the guard obediently loosened his grip. The villager ripped his arm free and pointed it accusingly at Eric. “This is all because of _you_ ,” he snarled. “My farm was destroyed by the Mouse King’s army, and now we wander homeless. My wife died from an illness brought on by lacking proper shelter. My children are _starving_. It’s all because of you! You good-for-nothing spoiled _brat_!” He spit, the gob landing at Eric’s feet. “You think that you know what suffering is, because the Mouse put a curse on you. But even that was remedied, and now you live as before, with no consequences for your past actions.”

“He fought for you,” Clara said viciously. “He did not abandon his kingdom, though he easily could have. He nearly _died_ to rid this land of the Mouse King. Even now, he labors tirelessly to repair the damages done by the Mouse. What more do you want from him?”

“You are a foreigner,” sneered the man. “You know nothing about this land, nor what we had endured before you took a prince for a husband, living in finery with him.”

“You would do well to speak to your queen with respect,” snapped Eric. He curled his hands into fists. “I know that I’ve made mistakes. Terrible, terrible mistakes. Yes, I am the reason the Mouse King was given so much power to begin with. All the destruction he caused is because of me. I am not ignorant to these facts, and I will forever carry that weight of regret. But I am trying to be the man I should have been before. I am doing what I can here, among you.” He let out a heavy breath. “I am sorry that you had to endure such suffering. Whatever you need, we will gladly provide.”

“I don’t want the gifts you give out of guilt,” growled the man. “I want you to endure what we were forced to suffer. To truly understand what we have lost.” He gritted his teeth. “If the Mouse King had simply killed you instead of wasting his time with silly spells, it would have been a fate justly deserved!”

Clara stepped forward furiously, but Eric caught her. His jaw tightened. “If you wish to collect a basket of supplies, do so,” he said coldly. “Otherwise, there is no further reason for you to be here.”

The man stood rigid with anger, his grip tightening on his daughter. She winced, tugging weakly to try and loosen her hand. Her movements broke her father’s attention on Eric, and he glanced down, his face softening with sorrow as he looked at her. Then he whirled about and strode off, pulling his daughter after him.

There was a long moment of stunned silence. The surrounding villagers stared at Eric, who gazed stonily in the direction the man had left. Gently, Clara placed a hand on his arm.

“Eric?” she said softly.

Eric swiftly turned away, shrugging off Clara as he strode back to the wagon. Ignoring the wide-eyed onlookers, Eric gestured to Captain Candy to hand him another basket.

Clara waved for those in line to come forward, hoping to diffuse the tension. “We still have plenty of baskets!” she called out. “There is enough for everyone.”

Gradually, as the villagers began talking amongst themselves again, the uneasy air dissipated. As the afternoon dipped into twilight, baskets continued to be handed out, and many villagers made an effort to express their honest gratitude to Eric and Clara. Eric was friendly enough as he talked to them, but Clara noticed the stiffness in his shoulders, and the faint tremor of his hands as he passed out supplies. When there was an opportunity to do so inconspicuously, she grabbed his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. He returned the pressure, but not as fervently as usual.

By the time the sun was touching the horizon, most of the villagers had gone home. A few stragglers remained, either to claim their baskets, or to simply enjoy the cool spring evening. At the edge of the square, two men sat on a brick wall; one played a flute, and the other a lute. Their music lifted the atmosphere to a calmly cheerful mood, and a few children skipped over the pavestones with cries of laughter as they spun in dancing circles.

“Eric! Clara!” called out a young boy’s voice.

Eric and Clara looked up to watch two children race across the square towards them, excited grins on their faces. They were instantly recognizable by their vividly colored outfits: the girl in a dress of pink and white peppermint stripes, and her brother in a ginger-colored jacket with white trim.

“Pepper, Gillis!” cried Clara happily. She opened her arms, and they ran into her embrace. “How are you, dears?”

“Swell!” exclaimed Pepper. She tilted her head up in a dignified manner. “Mama is allowing me to help in the bakery now.”

“How wonderful!” Clara smiled at the mention of their mother, whom Eric had helped the children reunite with during his first weeks as king. “I’m sure you make the best pastries in the entire village.”

Gillis pulled away from Clara and grasped Eric’s hand, tugging on it excitedly. “ _I’m_ learning to ride Marzipan, Eric!” he said proudly.

“Well now, that is impressive!” grinned Eric. “She’s a stubborn horse, but I have no doubt that you can handle her.”

Clara let out a relieved breath; Eric had immediately softened in the presence of the siblings, and as he conversed with them, she could see his body noticeably relaxing.

Pepper smacked her brother’s arm. “You can’t call him _that_ ,” she said matter-of-factly. “He’s the _king_ now! You have to call him _Your Majesty_.” She stuck her chin in the air, proud of herself for remembering the correct title with which to address Eric.

Clara smiled at the girl’s efforts to act like a grown lady, her thoughts flickering back to when she had – sometimes as haughtily as Pepper – reprimanded her own brother.

Eric chuckled and bent closer to the siblings. “I’ll tell you what,” he whispered dramatically. “Since you both helped Clara and I save Parthenia, I’d say that makes you _extra_ special. So you two can call us Clara and Eric.”

Gillis nodded victoriously at his sister. Pepper looked slightly awed by the suggestion. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Eric affectionately tapped his finger on her nose. “Of course.”

A faint blush blossomed on Pepper’s cheeks. “Okay,” she muttered with a smile.

Clara reached for one of the leftover baskets on the ground near the wagon. “Here, you two,” she said, holding it out.

“Oh, we didn’t come for that,” said Gillis. “Mama told us to refuse it. We have the bakery, so Mama says to give the basket to someone who needs it more.”

“Are you sure?” asked Clara.

Pepper nodded. “Though, we did bring something for you!” She reached for a small basket that was dangling from the crook of her arm. Digging beneath the cloth that had been draped over it, she pulled out a paper box tied with a pink ribbon. “They’re peppermint and gingerbread cookies,” she said, holding it out. “I helped bake them with Mama.”

“Why, thank you!” Clara exclaimed. She took the box with a smile. “I’m sure they will be delicious.”

Pepper looked pleased as she readjusted the cloth over her basket. “We should head back home,” she said. “But we wanted to be sure to say hello.”

“We’re glad you did,” said Eric.

Pepper smiled shyly, then grabbed Gillis’ arm. “Bye!” she called as she dragged her brother away. Gillis waved enthusiastically, and then they disappeared down a small street.

Clara looked at Eric with a warm smile. He returned it, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. Sobering, Clara laced her fingers through his.

“We should be heading back,” said Captain Candy as he walked towards them. “It’s getting late.”

Eric nodded, and busied himself with loading the leftover baskets into the wagon. Clara exchanged a worried glance with Captain Candy, but neither of them bothered Eric as they prepared to leave.

By the time they arrived back at the castle, night had fallen. The horses and wagons were left with the stable hands, and everyone else departed for bed.

“Eric, do you want to talk about what happened?” asked Clara.

They were back in their bedchamber. A fire had been lit by the servants before they had arrived, and it crackled comfortingly now, easing the silence. Clara stood in the doorway connecting to the washroom, barefoot and dressed in a lilac nightgown.

Still in his day clothes, Eric sat in a chair placed before one of the windows in their room. His elbow was propped up on the armrest and he rested his chin in his hand, a disturbed thoughtfulness in his eyes.

“Eric?” repeated Clara.

Eric made no sign that he had heard her.

Clara’s eyebrows twitched together in concern. She quietly crossed the room and knelt in front of the chair so that she was gazing up into his face. “It was the angry ramblings of a hungry man,” she said gently. “You offered him food, and he refused. What he said –”

“What he said was true,” Eric said. His tone was sharp, but Clara knew it wasn’t directed at her. “Every word of it.” He lowered his hand with a frustrated sigh. “What happened to them _is_ my fault. If I hadn’t been such…such a selfish idiot, Father wouldn’t have unknowingly given his power to a raging murderer.” When he spoke next, there was a tremor to his voice. “I’m…I’m _trying_ to make amends, Clara.”

“I _know_ you are,” said Clara ardently. She took Eric’s face in both hands. “Darling, I _know_ it. _Parthenia_ knows it. That man is not the majority of your people.”

“But he’s still part of my people. That makes me responsible for him, and his family.”

Clara sighed. “We will find out who he is,” she said diplomatically. “And we will see what we can do to help him.”

Eric bit his lip, the distress on his face still evident. Clara pulled Eric to her, embracing him as he pressed his face into the crook of her shoulder.

“We’ll make it right,” she whispered. “You already have done so much. Don’t let guilt of past actions hinder the wonderful things you’re doing now.”

He did not reply.

She held him close that night, desperate to show him how much he was loved. Eventually they fell into an uneasy sleep, with past memories plaguing his thoughts and current worries shadowing hers.


	6. Consequences Part II

The following day, Eric and Clara returned to the Gingerbread Village to try and discover the identity of the man. After making a few inquiries, they were finally informed that the man’s name was Hugo Corlynch. He had had a farm just outside of the village, but ever since its destruction, he and his family had wandered aimlessly across Parthenia. They occasionally returned to the Gingerbread Village, but Corlynch had always – rather aggressively – refused offers of charity. Neither he nor his five children had been seen since his outburst the day before.

“He sounds like an annoyingly proud man,” Eric muttered. “Refusing help of any kind? Even for the sake of his children?” Eric made a noise of disgust.

He and Clara rode their horses along the road leading back to the castle. Behind them, far enough away to allow them a private conversation, followed four royal guards also on horseback. Clara gazed at the trees lining the road, wondering where people like Corlynch – who had lost everything – were now living. Had they found shelter in the woods? Or had they taken up the life of a nomad, unable to find a place to call theirs?

“I think losing everything so suddenly would be a great shock to anybody,” she said. “I only hope that when we _do_ find him, we will be able to reason with him. Pride is a dangerous thing.”

“So is a man driven mad with grief over his wife’s death,” said Eric.

Clara frowned. “Madness seems a bit of an exaggerated trait to attribute to Corlynch, don’t you think?”

“I simply think we should be careful when approaching him.” Eric glanced warily at Clara. “Or perhaps you shouldn’t be involved in the confrontation at all.”

“What?” demanded Clara. She narrowed her eyes at Eric. “Why?”

Eric hesitated as he tried to piece together the best way to explain his thoughts.

“I appreciate the concern for my well-being,” snapped Clara. “But if you think that I am going to let you talk with a violent-tempered man _alone_ , when _you_ are the main source of his outrage, then you are as thick-headed as Masha says that you are.”

“I’m not saying I have to be alone with him,” Eric said. “Candy can be with – wait, what does Masha say about me?”

Clara turned away from Eric, re-focusing her attention on the wood’s border.

“Clara,” said Eric in exasperation. “I’m not suggesting this because I think you are incapable of dealing with Corlynch. I just don’t want you to be involved in a situation that might easily erupt into something dangerous.”

“It is more dangerous for _you_ ," said Clara. "For, as I said,  _I_ am not the one who has angered him." She looked back to see Eric staring at his horse with an uncomfortable expression, and the memory of his misery the night before flared in her mind. Immediately, her irritation dissipated.

Clara sighed. “Eric, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just worried for you.”

Eric flicked his horse’s reins. “I know,” he said quietly. “And I for you.”

“Then we shall have to be careful when we talk to him together, won’t we?” said Clara with a soft smile.

Eric shook his head in defeat, the corner of his mouth curving upwards.

Once back inside the castle grounds, Eric offered to take the horses to the stables if Clara would go and tell Masha they had returned, so she could prepare lunch. Clara readily agreed, her stomach having been rumbling with hunger long before they had reached the castle.

She decided to take the route through the gardens to get to the kitchens. A servant’s entrance was located on the opposite side of the gardens, and Masha didn’t mind Clara or Eric using it, so long as they kept out of the way of her workers. Clara preferred it to the regular entrance, for it gave her an excuse to stroll through the beautifully kept gardens.

She smiled as she rounded a cherry tree, raising her hand to brush along the bottoms of the flowering branches. The garden was surprisingly extensive, stretching on for what seemed an impossible length within the confines of the castle grounds. Various trees, bushes, and plants populated it, along with a few tastefully placed statues. It was easy to lose oneself amongst the greenery, as Clara and Eric often did when looking for an escape from the castle. Feeling rather relaxed, Clara paused to gaze up at a marble statue of two lovers tangled in a passionate embrace.

The sudden sound of something rustling in the bushes behind her startled her, and she began to spin around. Before she could turn fully, a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm wrapped around her shoulders. She was yanked against the chest of her captor, and then dragged backwards into a half-circle of tall bushes planted around a small fountain.

The shock of the attack passed quickly, and Clara struggled violently against her captor’s arms. Using all her strength, she stamped on the toe of a boot she could see, and simultaneously bit the hand over her mouth. A man’s voice cried out in pain, and the hand was jerked away from her mouth. Clara gasped in relief of being free of the filthy hand and sucked in a breath to scream.

But then a knife was pressed against her throat, stopping her cry for help.

“Don’t even think about screaming, _Your Majesty_ ,” snarled her captor.

She stilled, instantly recognizing the haggard voice.

“Where is your husband?” hissed Hugo Corlynch. His putrid breath brushed her ear and she cringed, trying to angle herself away from his mouth.

Clara gritted her teeth. “He’s not here,” she said, hoping her anger at this man’s audacity would mask the lie in her words. “He’s traveling. He won’t be back for a week at least.”

“Lies,” snapped the man. “I saw you both leaving the Gingerbread Village only a few hours earlier. He’s here. _Where_?”

Clara tugged fiercely at her captor’s arms, but he was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so malnourished. “Do you plan to kill him?” she asked, unable to stop the cold fear rising in her breast.

“No, not him. Not today. _You_ are what I need. Now, where is he?” There was a tremor in the man’s voice. It sounded strangely close to fear.

Fear of being caught? Clara wondered. Or fear of his own actions? She gave another futile twist. “I told you. He’s –”

“Clara!”

Clara looked up to see Eric standing at the entrance to the half-circle, staring in shock. Overwhelming relief was the first emotion to sweep through Clara. But it was quickly followed by terror for her husband, and she suddenly wished it had been someone, _anyone_ , else who had stumbled upon her and Corlynch.

Anger flashed through the fear in Eric’s eyes as he took a step forward. Corlynch increased the pressure of the blade at Clara’s throat in warning, forcing Eric to stop.

“I told you that you deserved to endure what I’ve had to,” Corlynch seethed, glaring hatefully at Eric. “Why should you gain everything despite what you’ve done, while we lose it all? Why are _you_ exempt from fate’s hand?”

Eric’s jaw tightened. He spared Clara a glance before focusing his attention back on Corlynch. “There is no need to shed blood,” he said. “We can discuss this like gentlemen, find a solution…”

“Can you bring back my wife?” demanded Corlynch. “Can you return a mother to her children?” He tightened his grip painfully on Clara’s arm, eliciting a wince from her.

Furious, Eric took another step, but Corlynch pulled Clara deeper into the half-circle. “I’ll cut her throat! I swear I will.” With shaking hands, he pressed the knife harder against Clara’s skin. Clara gasped, and a thin line of blood trickled from beneath the blade.

Eric paled. “Please, she is innocent of my crimes. Killing her won’t bring back your wife.”

“No,” agreed Corlynch. “But to know that _you_ will suffer, as I do for my wife…that will be enough.” His voice quivered, as though he was struggling to keep up his nerve for what he was doing.

“Please,” Eric begged. “Please don’t.”

Corlynch shook his head. “I have to…I _should_ …it’s only fair…it’s what’s _right_ ,” he muttered frantically. “I lost _my_ wife because of you. Why shouldn’t you lose yours?”

“Take me,” said Eric desperately. “Take me instead. Do whatever you want to me. _I_ am the cause of your grief, not her.” His voice trembled. “ _Not her_. Please let her go.”

“No,” said Clara, tears welling in her eyes. “Eric, no…” She grimaced as her throat brushed against the knife with every word. “Please don’t take him. Please don’t.”

“I’ll take whoever I want!” cried Corlynch. His eyes were wide, wild with anger and fear and uncertainty.

“Think of your children,” implored Eric. “They need their father. If you do this, you will ruin any chance of helping them, being with them as they grow. Is your revenge worth more than their happiness?”

Something shifted in Corlynch’s eyes. Clara felt the pressure on her throat soften slightly.

“This is your chance to be the father your children need. To be the good man they love.” Eric took a small step forward, his hand outstretched. “Please don’t do this.”

Corlynch’s hands quivered. There was a tense stretch of silence between the three of them as Eric stared into the man’s eyes, his expression pleading.

Then Corlynch gave a wretched cry of grief, lowering the knife. Before he had even fully released his hold on Clara, she ripped free of him and rushed to Eric. Eric caught her against him with a sob, clutching her to his chest tightly. Tears of relief streaked down Clara’s cheeks, and she buried her face in Eric’s shirt, soothed by the familiar strength of his arms.

Corlynch sunk to his knees, weeping hysterically. He let the knife drop to the ground with a dull thud, and pressed his face into his hands, his shoulders shaking.

Drained from the emotional strain of the ordeal, Clara felt her knees buckle. Careful to keep their distance from Corlynch, Eric lowered the both of them to the ground, murmuring fervent reassurances into Clara’s hair.

There was the sound of multiple pairs of fast-approaching footsteps. Eric jerked his head up to watch as a dozen guards filed into the half-circle, surrounding the three of them. Two guards roughly grabbed Corlynch’s arms and jerked him to his feet.

“Don’t harm him,” Eric ordered, his voice still shaky. “Take him to the dungeons; I’ll deal with him later.”

The guards snapped chains onto Corlynch’s wrists and led him away. The head of the guards, Rodolph, hurried to Eric and Clara, concern lining his face. “My king and queen, are you alright?”

“I am,” said Eric. “But Clara…” He looked at his wife in concern. Gently, he tipped Clara’s chin up to inspect the thin cut on her throat. Anger flashed in his eyes, followed by heartbreaking guilt. “I’m so sorry, Clara,” he whispered.

Clara swallowed. “I’m alright,” she said. “I just want to go inside now.”

Eric held her gaze for a moment longer, then glanced up at Rodolph curiously. “How did you know?”

Rodolph pointed to a balcony overlooking the half-circle. “A laundrymaid had been drying out linens. As soon as she saw the queen being taken she ran for help.”

Eric gave a weak laugh. “I’ll have to give her the rest of the week off.” He returned his attention to Clara. “Can you stand?”

Clara nodded. She gripped Eric’s hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. With Rodolph leading them, and the remaining guards following, they made they way into the castle.

After what had happened, neither Clara nor Eric felt very hungry. Once Clara’s wound was cleaned and bandaged, she and Eric retired to their rooms, wanting simply to be alone together.

Eric knelt in front of Clara, who was sitting on their bed. “Clara, I am so sorry,” he said miserably. “I should’ve known –”

“That Corlynch had followed us back from the Gingerbread Village and was hiding in the gardens?” Clara smiled sympathetically. “Even you cannot predict such events, love.”

Eric’s face twisted with sorrow. He brought a hand to the side of Clara’s neck, careful to avoid the bandage. “This is all my fault.”

Clara grasped his hand. “It is _not_ your fault,” she said firmly. “Corlynch refused to accept charity, refused to allow forgiveness into his heart. That is not on you.”

“But because of the Mouse King –”

“Yes, the _Mouse King_ destroyed his farm. Not you.” Clara set her jaw. “And if you continue to blame yourself, I’ll lock you in the library with Major Mint and Masha until they lecture some sense into you.”

Despite his grief at seeing Clara injured, Eric couldn’t help it as his mouth twitched into the shadow of a smile. “Now that truly is a horrible punishment.”

Clara brought her free hand up to Eric’s cheek. She ran her thumb over his skin, just brushing the corner of his lips. “I’m fine,” she said. “And so are you. That’s what matters.”

Eric leaned forward and gently kissed Clara. When he settled back on his heels, there was nothing but the utmost adoration in his eyes for her.

Clara smiled. “I think my appetite has finally returned. Shall we go down for lunch now?”

Eric pushed himself to his feet. “Probably, before Masha comes barging in and drags us down herself, least we ‘waste away.’”

“She cares,” Clara said affectionately. She stood and linked her arm through Eric’s. Together they went down to the kitchen, preferring today to eat in Masha’s company rather than isolate themselves in the dining hall.

Masha fretted over them the entire time, giving them far too much to eat, and worrying over any noise or movement Eric or Clara made that sounded even remotely close to discomfort. As they ate she paced about the kitchen furiously, vowing to ‘give that brute what he deserves’ if she got her hands on Corlynch. Before they left, she insisted that they each drink a full cup of her herbal tea. Only then did she dismiss them.

Eric did not leave Clara’s side the rest of the day. They moved about the castle together as they attended to various tasks, Eric never being no more than a couple paces away from her. When he wasn’t holding her hand, he often brushed his fingers against her arm, as though reassuring himself that she was safe beside him. Clara smiled and encouraged the contact, hoping that it would calm Eric’s nerves, which seemed more frazzled then hers. By the time dusk had settled over the castle, Eric and Clara were quite relieved to escape the anxious inquires of their friends and make their way back to the privacy of their bedchamber. Only when they had finally settled into their bed did they fully relax.

“What should we do about Corlynch?” asked Clara.

It was completely dark outside now, and most of the castle had calmed down for the night. Clara leaned against Eric’s chest as he sat against pillows stacked along the headboard of the bed. His arms were linked over Clara, and she ran her hand over the lower one, stroking back and forth lightly.

“Hm?” murmured Eric. He had been gazing into the fireplace, his mind wandering in the silence that had settled between them before Clara had spoken.

“Corlynch,” repeated Clara.

“Oh.” Eric sighed.

"You're not going to just leave him in the dungeons, are you?"

“No,” said Eric softly. “No, I would have him returned to his children, but I fear that he is not mentally well enough to care for them properly.” He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation of Clara’s fingers running over his skin. “I’ll have Doctor Astros examine him. If he does not believe Corlynch fit to care for his children, then we’ll have Corlynch sent to a place that can help him.”

“And his children?”

“Corlynch refused to tell Candy where they were. Hopefully he’ll tell us tomorrow, and we can bring them here and make sure they’re properly clothed and fed before deciding where they should go.” Eric rubbed his thumb along Clara’s arm. “We’ll have to find someone who will be willing to take them in until their father is well. I’ll be sure to pay for the expense of their keep to whoever does.”

“We’ll find someone,” reassured Clara. She took Eric’s hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Many would not blame you if you simply left Corlynch in the dungeons. But you are going to _help_ him, and his children.” She squeezed his arm. “You told Corlynch that you were trying to be the man you should have been before your curse. But you _are_ that man, Eric. You’ve been him for so long now.” She twisted around and looked up at Eric. “I’m so proud of you.”

Emotion swelled in Eric, his eyes shining with the deepest gratitude. “Thank you, Clara.”

She smiled and wrapped her arm around him, leaning into his warmth. “I love you, Eric.”

He kissed Clara’s forehead. “I love you.”


	7. Consequences Part III

The rusting door to the cell creaked open, the ominous sound reverberating through Clara’s bones. The guard holding the door ajar gestured for her to pass.

“The door will stay open,” said the guard. His tone was formal, but Clara could detect a hidden layer of concern for her. “I will be right outside, Your Majesty. Well within reach.”

“Thank you,” Clara said. “But I do not think Mr. Corlynch is planning on doing anything warranting your intervention.” She smiled gratefully at the guard as she stepped into the dimly lit cell.

Hugo Corlynch sat on the cell’s single cot. He was hunched over with his arms draped over his knees; a chain hung between his wrists, keeping him secured. Upon hearing Clara enter the cell, he snapped his head up, and surprise washed over his sullen expression.

She couldn’t bring herself to greet him. Not after yesterday. Instead, she simply set a basket on the floor. It was within reach of him, but he did not grab for it.

“There is food in it,” Clara said. “And warmer clothing then what you currently have on. It can get rather cold down here.”

Corlynch licked his lips, moistening the cracked skin. “Why?” he finally asked.

Clara swallowed, then winced as she felt the bandage on her neck stretch from the movement. Corlynch eyed the bandage, and shame flickered across his face.

That was what Clara needed to see to continue. A reassurance that he had _some_ semblance of remorse for his actions. “Because I do not believe you are an evil man,” she said.

Corlynch stared at her. “After what I did to you?”

Clara clenched her fists. “Yes,” she said tightly. “You have suffered a great deal. You lost your wife in a horrible way, and for that I am deeply sorry. Your actions were driven by hunger, grief, and desperation. There was a selfish need for revenge too, but I do not think that makes you as evil as some would believe.”

Corlynch mulled her words over, picking at the shackle on his wrist. He gave his head a disbelieving shake. “I have heard that you are a woman of virtue and honesty. I suppose the talk was true.” He frowned at her. “Why the prince? Why would someone like you marry him?”

“He is your king now, not the prince,” Clara reminded him coldly. She thought for a moment, wondering how she could possibly explain how she saw Eric to a man who hated him so much. “I did not know him prior to his curse. When I met him, he was already trying to remedy his past mistakes. He was ashamed of who he had been and gave up nearly everything for his people. Despite who he had been before, and how you see him, he truly is a selfless person.” She tilted her chin up. “And now, after reclaiming his kingdom’s freedom, he has driven himself to exhaustion to repair the damages done. Is forgiveness for someone so changed such a difficult thing to ask?”

Corlynch frowned. “His current actions cannot erase past sins.”

“If you refuse to forgive him, why should _your_ actions be dismissed?” challenged Clara. “Are your threats of murder to be pardoned, while my husband is not?”

Corlynch shifted uncomfortably. He brow creased, and a haunted look shadowed his eyes. “But my wife…” he muttered. “She…my wife is gone…what am I to do?”

“I am sorry for your misfortune,” Clara said carefully, slightly unnerved by Corlynch’s change in manner. “And I am sorry that your children suffer.” She held out a hand imploringly. “Please, tell us where they are so that they can be brought here and cared for until your release.”

“The king is releasing me?” There was genuine surprise in the question, enough to bring focus back to Corlynch’s gaze.

“A doctor will examine you this afternoon,” said Clara. “His assessment will determine where you are released to.”

Corlynch slumped at that. “So my children…”

“We will look after them,” promised Clara. “But you _must_ tell us where they are.”

A long moment passed between them. Then Corlynch let out a sigh. “There is a glen southwest of the Gingerbread Village. They were to stay there until I returned.”

“Thank you,” Clara said in relief. “They will be taken care of.”

“And this was your idea?”

“No. It was my husband’s.”

Corlynch’s eyes widened in surprise.

Clara raised an eyebrow. “Is mercy such a hard thing to expect from him?”

Corlynch twisted his hands, suddenly unable to look Clara in the eye. “After what happened yesterday…”

“You didn’t do what you had fully planned to. Because of your children. Love is a powerful thing, Mr. Corlynch. As is forgiveness.”

Corlynch nodded, looking uncertain.

“I’ll leave you to your breakfast,” said Clara. She began to turn towards the cell door.

“I’m sorry.”

Clara paused.

“For what I did to you,” Corlynch said. “I…I still have yet to rid myself of the hate I hold for your husband, but for what I did to _you_ …I am sorry.”

The memory was still so fresh in her mind. If she dwelled on it too long, she could still feel the cool blade against her throat. Hear Eric’s pleas to take him instead…kill him instead of her…

She sucked in a breath. “Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling faintly.

Corlynch did not say anything further, and Clara left the cell, the guard locking the door behind her. Feeling unsteady after the confrontation, Clara pressed her folded hands against her mouth, breathing deeply. She looked towards the passage leading back to the main levels of the castle, and stared in surprise.

Eric was standing there, leaning against one of the passage walls. Seeing Clara exit the cell, he straightened, a whisper of relief passing over his face.

“How did you know I was here?” Clara asked. She walked over to him, distancing herself from Corlynch’s cell.

Eric smiled wryly. “Telling Major Mint where you were sneaking off to was a mistake. He couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.”

Clara let out an irritated sigh. “I suppose he wasn’t the wisest person to confide in.”

“No, probably not.” Eric tilted his head. “I would ask what you’re doing down here, but the open cell door made things pretty easy to hear.”

“Eavesdropper,” accused Clara.

Eric shrugged.

“Exactly how much did you hear?”

“Enough,” said Eric. He grinned. “I appreciate you defending me.”

Clara gently smacked his arm. “Oh, hush.”

Amused, Eric took Clara’s hand and led her down the passage. “But Clara.” His tone was heavy, weighed down with concern. “You shouldn’t have come alone.”

“There are plenty of guards, Eric.”

“I know. But seeing Corlynch so soon after what happened…” Eric sighed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” said Clara.

He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it. “Yes,” he agreed proudly. “I suppose you did. Your moral high ground is hard to keep up with sometimes,” he teased.

“You try, dear. That’s the important part.”

Eric chuckled. “Thank you. I think.” Worry dipped his mouth into a frown as he studied her face. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Clara smiled tiredly. “Yes.” Then her demeanor changed, and a sudden urgency flashed in her eyes. “Corlynch told me where his children are. We must find them.”

“Yes, I heard. I assume you want to lead the search?”

“Of course,” said Clara. “They are probably scared to death. I’m certain Rodolph or the major would only frighten them further into the woods.” She looked at him hopefully. “Will you come, too?”

“If you think I should.”

Clara tugged on Eric’s sleeve, straightening it. “I do.”

“Then I will.”

/

All five children were in the glen, huddled beneath large tree roots that twisted above the ground. Clara and Masha approached the children first, leaving the men on the other side of the glen with the horses and wagon. Eventually, they were able to coax the children out with promises of food, and the reassurance that they would able to see their father.

The eldest was a girl no older than eleven; in her arms she held a toddler girl. The other three, two boys and the girl Clara recognized from the other day, ranged in ages from five to eight. They were filthy, dangerously thin, and in desperate need of proper clothes.

When they arrived back at the castle, meals and baths were given. The eldest sibling, Peony, was the first to ask after their father. Clara promised that they could see him that evening, though she worried how they would react to seeing their father in a cell. So she had Hugo Corlynch temporarily moved to a meeting room near the dungeon’s entrance, where he was closely guarded as his children visited him.

Over the next few days, the children mostly kept to the guest chambers of the castle. They were exceedingly shy, though Peony’s wariness carried a particularly sharp edge of suspicion. Clara and Masha were the ones to tend to them most, and eventually the children warmed to the two. Peony, though, seemed determined not to harbor affections for anyone beyond her family.

By the end of the week, Corlynch had been sent to an institution Clara and Eric hoped would give him the proper help. Ebba Jerkins, a woman who helped weave the baskets for the monthly donations, offered to take in the Corlynch children. She already had two children of her own, but since Eric promised he would pay for their expenses, she readily agreed.

It was late morning, and Ebba Jerkins was expected by the end of the afternoon. Clara was busy helping Masha tend to the younger children, but preparing them to leave was turning out to be a multi-hour endeavor. With most of the work he had planned to do already completed, Eric wandered through the castle corridors without a real destination in mind, content to be alone with his thoughts. He pushed open a door and stepped through it, not paying attention to where he was. Hearing the click of his boots on the hard marble floor made him pause, and he glanced up to see that he had ended up in the main ballroom.

Light poured through the massive windows lining the eastward facing wall, enhancing the gold-trimmed patterns set into the tiles beneath his feet. Against the opposite wall was a stage meant for performers and musicians, where a lone grand piano now sat unattended. The massive room was mostly empty – save for the lone girl sitting in the middle of the dancing floor.

Peony was facing away from Eric, her legs crossed beneath her and her hands holding something in her lap. For a moment, Eric considered leaving the room to give her privacy. But then she turned around and stared at him with piercing brown eyes that seemed far too mature for an eleven-year-old.

Unsure what to say, Eric approached slowly. “Hello,” he greeted.

Peony did not reply. She watched him with a distrusting gaze, her hands tightening on what Eric could see now was a doll in a pink ballerina dress.

“That doll is very pretty.”

Peony pushed the doll out of Eric’s line of sight. “I didn’t steal it.”

“I know,” Eric said, taken aback by her defensive tone. “Was it a gift?”

“Yes.” Peony slowly moved the doll back into her lap. “From the queen,” she said quietly.

Eric smiled. “I assumed.” He gestured to the floor. “May I sit?”

Peony bit her lip. “I guess.”

“Thank you.” Eric lowered himself to the tiles, careful to keep a few feet’s distance between the two of them to not alarm her.

“How long do we have to stay with Mrs. Jerkins?” asked Peony.

“I’m not sure,” Eric answered honestly. “But she’s a very nice woman. You and your siblings should get along fine there.”

“And my Papa? When we will see him again?”

Eric cringed. “I don’t know.”

“You’re the _king_ ,” the girl said. The statement teetered between being a simple statement of fact and an accusation. “Shouldn’t you know?”

Eric sighed. “It’s not something that can be set with a definite period of time. It will depend on him, and how well he responds to the help he’s getting.”

“The help _you_ think he needs.”

Eric eyed the girl, surprised by the anger in her voice, if only to hear it from one so young. “Do you think I gave him an unfair judgement?”

Peony hesitated. “I…I heard what he did. To the queen.” She bit her lip. “Some servants were talking about it while I was…in the kitchens.”

Ah. Masha had been complaining about a missing tray of muffins the other day.

Peony twisted a lock of her doll’s hair around her finger. “He’s not a bad man,” she said quietly. But the defense of her father seemed uncertain, as though she wasn’t sure what to trust anymore.

Eric sobered, wondering how he could possibly explain the complicated reasoning behind her father’s actions. “Your father is…troubled,” he finally said. “But he will get better. You will see him again, I promise.”

Peony nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t want my brothers and sisters to know what he did,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “They probably wouldn’t understand anyway, but…I don’t want them to hate him.” Then she pressed the doll against her mouth and began to sob.

Eric hesitated, unsure how she would react if he touched her. But he couldn’t just sit there and do _nothing_. Slowly, he reached for the girl. When she didn’t shrink away, he pulled her against him, holding her as she wept.

“It will be alright,” he said softly.

Peony sobbed until she had no tears left to give. When she finally moved away from Eric, her face was red and her eyes puffy. Giving her a sympathetic look, Eric held out a handkerchief he had pulled from his pocket. She gratefully accepted it and wiped at her face.

“Now,” Eric said. “I want you to promise _me_ something.”

Peony looked at him curiously. “What?”

“That you won’t carry the weight of resentment in your heart. Towards your father, or your mother’s death. You have siblings that look up to you, who need you. You must not allow your heart to harden from grief. There certainly is reason for sorrow, but you must allow time to heal you.”

Peony sat silently as Eric’s words sunk into her. She turned his handkerchief over in her hands, inspecting it as she contemplated his request. Then she gave a firm nod.

“Good,” said Eric. “Now, should we try and find your siblings? Clara has been showering them with gifts all morning, and I know for a fact that there is a box specially marked for you.”

Peony nodded and handed the handkerchief back to Eric. Eric stood and held out his hand to Peony. She hesitated, then allowed him to pull her up.

“You know,” commented Eric. “I’ve seen a lot of dancers perform here, and I think you’ve got the perfect feet for dancing.”

“Really?”

Eric nodded. “Definitely. There’s dance troupe that performs here often, and I think you would be perfect for it. Do you want Clara to ask if they have room for one more?”

“But I can’t dance,” Peony said, fear flickering over her face.

Eric bent and cupped his hand to the side of his mouth, as though preparing to tell Peony something only she was privileged to hear. “Can I tell you a secret? Clara couldn’t dance either when I first met her. She was _so_ nervous. But she learned quickly, and I know that you can too. What do you think?”

Peony grinned, her face glowing with the first expression of true happiness he had seen on her. “Yes,” she said in soft wonder. “Oh please, yes.”

“Wonderful!” He began heading towards the ballroom doors, but he paused and gestured for her to follow. “Come on, let’s hurry and find Clara before she gives your siblings _all_ of the treats Masha made.”

Peony clutched her doll to her chest, a cautious smile curving her mouth as she walked to Eric’s side. “Okay.”


	8. A Day Off

“Eric. Eric, wake up.”

Something poked him in the side. Twice.

“ _Eric_.”

Eric pulled the bedsheets further over him. “Clara…” he groaned. “How early is it?”

“Early,” Clara said cheerfully. “Get up, before I start throwing pillows.”

Eric did not move.

Clara glared at him with a smirk, then reached for her pillow.

“Clara don’t you dare…”

“Then get out of bed.”

“Why?”

“If I tell you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

Another moan escaped Eric. He pushed down the sheets slightly, peeking out to see his wife standing over him. She still wore her nightgown, but she had pulled a robe over it. Even with her hair messy and loose, Eric thought she looked ridiculously beautiful. Which was annoying, because it made it that much harder for him to be irritated with her. Clara smiled brightly at him and grasped his hand, eagerly yanking him from the bed. Eric tumbled out with a cry of surprise, barely catching himself before crashing to the floor.

“ _Clara!_ ”

Unconcerned, Clara tugged him upright and led them out of their rooms and into the corridor.

“Where are we going? And can’t we at least put on shoes first?” He glanced down at his night shirt and breeches, imagining how the both of them must look as they stumbled through the castle barefoot and wearing nothing but rumpled bedclothes.

Clara looked highly amused by his second question, but did not bother to give it an answer as she brought him to a corner staircase. Up they went, with Clara leading him over the spiraling steps for what seemed like an eternity. But his mind may have been exaggerating the length of time, as he was still fairly muggy with sleep.

Clara pushed open a door at the top of the staircase and cool air rushed against them, startling Eric into full awareness. He straightened, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gentle light.

They were on one of the tower roofs. The circular stone surface spread out around them, framed by a curving wall. Beyond that, a pale sky of pink, yellow, and powder blue.

“What are we doing up here?” asked Eric as Clara pulled him towards the eastern wall.

Clara let go of Eric’s hand to lean against the stones. “Watching the sunrise,” she said simply.

Eric settled his arms on the wall. “The sunrise,” he repeated.

Clara nodded. “I think it’s important to remember the simple beauties,” she said wistfully. “And there’s something about a sunrise. The stillness before the world wakes, the coolness of the ground before the sun warms it…it’s that special moment of purity before the day begins.”

Eric smiled. They fell quiet, their arms lightly pressed against one another as they stared out over the stretch of land beyond the castle grounds, watching as the first rays of light spilled over the grass and reached towards the heavens. Slowly, the bright circle of the sun began to peek over the horizon.

Below, a maid wandered sleepily into the gardens. She held a pitcher of water, which she began to pour over a bed of irises.

“Shall we go in soon?” asked Clara.

Eric shrugged. “We can stay up here for a little longer.”

Clara gave a hum of agreeance. “I’ve been wanting to ask for a few days now, but I haven’t gotten the chance. How are Peony’s dance lessons?”

Eric looked at Clara in surprise. “How should I know?” he asked, a little too innocently.

Clara threw him a look. “I know you visited the troupe’s practice the other night,” she said. “You gave the dance instructor quite the shock. The _king_ , visiting a simple dancing troupe’s practice? She came to me, asking if there were any other ‘surprise’ visits planned, so she could be properly prepared next time.” She laughed.

Eric shook his head, smiling. “I just wanted to check on her.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. She needs the encouragement.”

“She seems to be doing fine. And her siblings adore Ebba Jerkins.”

“Good,” Clara said in satisfaction. It had been over a month since the Corlynch children had been sent to live with Mrs. Jerkins. Clara asked after them as often as she could, but it was good to hear that Peony herself said they were happy.

Clara nudged Eric’s arm. “What about you and me, then?” she asked. “You said yesterday that you wanted to take this day off. So what plans do you have for us?”

“We could just stay up here,” he said teasingly. “We don’t even need to go back to our room; we’ll just stay in these clothes.”

“Yes, how dignified,” said Clara with a laugh. “You look very kingly in that.”

“Well, perhaps _I_ don’t.” Eric wrapped an arm around Clara’s waist, pulling her close. “But you still look very much like a queen.” He leaned down, kissing her.

Clara raised her hands to caress his face. She ran her hands back through his hair, then began giggling as her fingers threaded through his unruly dark locks.

Eric chuckled. “Are you making fun of me?” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as he spoke.

“A little,” grinned Clara. She pulled away, stroking his tangled strands. “Though I still think you look _exceedingly_ handsome, even with your…um, interesting hair.”

“Well _that’s_ a relief,” Eric murmured as he pressed another kiss to her lips. He tilted his head, leaving a soft kiss on her jaw.

Clara closed her eyes happily. “If you don’t have a set idea,” she sighed. “Perhaps you could take me back to the room with the lights.”

“Hm?”

“The room with the lights. The one you brought me to on Christmas Eve.” Clara ran her hand over the nape of his neck. “We haven’t gone back there.”

“We haven’t?” Eric paused and looked up at her. “Well then, _that_ is where we’ll hide today.”

They managed to sneak back to their rooms without being seen, and hurriedly changed into suitable day clothes. Instead of going to the dining hall, they went directly to the kitchen and asked Masha to pack their breakfast. Masha did so, slyly asking what they had planned for the day. Eric was vague with his answer, prompting a chuckle from Masha as she handed the food basket over. After confirming that they would be back in the afternoon, Eric and Clara made their way to the secret passage.

They had barely walked through the archway before Clara was tugging the basket from Eric’s hand and setting it by the wall. “Dance with me,” she implored, pulling him into the sea of lights.

Gazing at her as though she were the only beautiful thing left in the world, he snapped his fingers, prompting the music to start. They spent the next many hours there, dancing and talking and simply enjoying each other’s company, without a care for time as it passed over them.


	9. Healing Hands

_Major Mint insisted that he wasn’t to blame. Captain Candy declared otherwise, and the Nutcracker would have been inclined to agree with the captain, but he decided to hold back his comments so as to avoid worsening what was already quite the impressive argument._

_“How was_ I _to know that there was quicksand there?” cried the major._

 _“Because the Nutcracker_ told _you it was quicksand!” exclaimed Captain Candy. “But you refused to listen, as usual, and then he and I had to go in after you! Now we’ve been delayed, because you are too thick-headed to heed simple advice!”_

_“Thick-headed?” roared Major Mint. “I could have your rank for such talk, Captain! How would you like to spend the rest of your career scrubbing mud off horseshoes?”_

_“So long as you’re not there to destroy my work, I’ll gladly accept the job!”_

_“Proud talk, coming from an impertinent scoundrel such as yourself!”_

_“Have they always been like this?” Clara asked, keeping her voice low enough so that only the Nutcracker could hear her._

_The Nutcracker gave a soft laugh. “For the most part.”_

_Clara shook her head, looking amused as she bent over the Nutcracker’s knee._

_After the major had been saved from the quicksand, the three men had cleaned themselves as best as possible. They were unable to find a nearby water source, so they would have to wait until they stumbled upon a pond or stream that the major, captain, and Nutcracker could properly wash off in. Save for the stains on their clothes and pride, this presented no serious problems for the major and captain._

_The Nutcracker, though, had been having trouble keeping up with the group. The quicksand was nothing like Clara had ever seen before. It was darker than the kind from her world, and coarser, as though it was comprised of millions of tiny gravelly pebbles. It was also sticky, and harder to scrub off than regular mud. Embedded in the Nutcracker’s wooden joints, it was only a matter of time until his movement was hindered, slowing him down. So they stopped for a short rest, at Clara’s request, so that she could properly tend to the Nutcracker._

_He sat on a fallen log, while she knelt before him. Using a borrowed knife from Captain Candy, she carefully scrapped away the dried quicksand from his knee and ankle joints. It was a tedious task, as the sand was difficult to remove, and Clara had to maneuver the knife awkwardly in order to get into the deeper crevices of the Nutcracker’s joints._

_The Nutcracker had offered to do it himself, but Clara firmly rejected the suggestion. His hands weren’t functional enough for such a meticulous job, she explained, and it would be a challenge for him to bend far enough to see properly, due to his bulky body. Annoyed, and slightly embarrassed, by the valid points, the Nutcracker reluctantly allowed Clara to chip away at the uncomfortable sand caking his legs._

_“I'm almost done,” she said. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she braced the Nutcracker’s leg with one hand, and carefully dug the knife into his knee joint with the other. She glanced up at him worriedly. “Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”_

_“Trust me,” said the Nutcracker bitterly. “I can barely feel it.”_

_Clara nodded and returned her attention to her work. “You certainly have no reservations about putting yourself in danger for those two. How long have you known them?”_

_The Nutcracker glanced warily at the major and captain. But they were so engrossed in their quarrel that it was clear they were paying no attention in the slightest to Clara or the Nutcracker._

_“The major has been working for the royal family since before I was born,” said the Nutcracker. “He admired my father greatly. He often told me, during my military history lessons, how much hope he had in my being able to live up to my father’s legacy.” The Nutcracker snorted, though there was no humor in the sound. “I’m afraid I turned out to be a bigger disappointment than he had been expecting.”_

_Clara paused, looking up at the Nutcracker in sympathy. The Nutcracker smiled sadly, then focused his attention on the knee Clara was cleaning. “Candy, though, he never tried comparing me to my father. He’s older than me by a few years, but we’ve been friends since I was a boy. I’m afraid most of the time it was me who dragged us into trouble, and he was often burdened with the task of getting us_ out _of it.” The Nutcracker sighed. “I suppose I feel as though this is my last chance to do something right for them. To make up for all those years of mediocrity on my part.”_

_Clara frowned, bothered by his words. “You’re too hard on yourself,” she said. “You are an honest, brave person Eri…Nutcracker.” She pressed her lips together, annoyed that he wouldn’t let her call him by his real name, even in private. He tensed at her slip-up, though she pretended not to notice. “The only thing mediocre about you is the way you see yourself.”_

_The Nutcracker did not reply. He watched her hands as they pivoted the knife, admiring the way her elegant fingers flexed and twisted around the instrument’s handle. The other hand continued to hold his leg in place, her pale fingers splayed out over the scarlet paint. He found himself wondering how her fingers would feel against his human hand, how soft they must be, how her ivory skin tone would complement his darker complexion…_

_He shook his head, diffusing the thoughts._ Focus _. He reprimanded himself._

_With a determined flick of the knife, the last chunk of the quicksand tumbled to the grass. “Ha!” exclaimed Clara triumphantly. She pulled the blade away from the Nutcracker._

_“Thank you,” he said sincerely._

_Clara smiled up at him. They stayed like that for a long moment, gazing at each other as something unexplainable passed between them._

_Clara blinked, then pushed herself to her feet, looking flustered. The place her hand had been on his leg suddenly felt cold and empty to the Nutcracker after she pulled away, and he stared at it in wonder, not recalling feeling such a sensation under his curse before._

_“Can you stand?” asked Clara._

_The Nutcracker looked up at her. “What? Oh. Oh, yes. I think so.” Carefully he stood. He took a step; feeling no resistance, he took another. “That’s much better,” he said in relief._

_“Good,” said Clara. She glanced over at the captain and major, who – amazingly – were still bickering. “I suppose we should try and be the peacemakers. They’ve been arguing long enough.”_

_“Or we could just leave,” said the Nutcracker. “They probably wouldn’t notice for at least ten more minutes.”_

_Clara looked at him in surprise. Realizing that he was joking, she laughed. “Tempting, but I think we should let them continue to accompany us. They could get lost otherwise,” she teased._

_“Well we can’t let_ that _happen,” said the Nutcracker with a smile._

_Clara felt a sudden warmth blossom in her stomach. Unsure what to say in response, she simply returned the smile, and together they walked over to their companions._

/

“It’s not my fault.”

Clara rolled her eyes.

“It’s _not_ ,” insisted Eric. “How was I to know that particular rung on the ladder was cracked? It looked perfectly fine when I started climbing it. The crack must have been visible only on the backside of the rung.”

“Hm,” muttered Clara, unconvinced. “You shouldn’t have been using the ladder in the first place. Why did you need to get into the stable loft, anyway?”

Eric shrugged. “I was trying to find a good place to read that large– and massively _boring_ – document the major had given me to sign. It was so stuffy in the study, and I wanted a change of scenery.”

“So you thought the stable _loft_ would be an appropriate place to read an important government document.”

Eric chuckled. “I don’t think the horses care what I’m reading.”

Clara shook her head, unable to the stop the upward curve of her lips. She looked down at Eric’s leg laying across her lap, the ankle heavily wrapped in bandages. She frowned in concern as she wound the bandage strip around the swollen ankle once more. “You’re fortunate it’s only a sprain,” she said. “Though you shouldn’t put any weight on it for a few days.”

Eric huffed in annoyance.

Tearing off the excess bandage, Clara tucked in the end of the strip. “How does that feel?” she asked.

“That’s much better,” Eric said gratefully.

“Good,” said Clara. She gently lowered his leg to the floor and stood.

Eric watched her hands fall away from his leg with a faint longing. His skin felt oddly numb without her touch, and he felt himself wishing for the comforting warmth of her hands once again.

“I have to go,” Clara said. “There are things that need my attention before the day is over.”

“They can’t wait?” It wasn’t a serious question; he knew very well they could not.

Clara smiled. “No. And you still have projects of your own, sprained ankle or not.”

Eric gave a defeated sigh. “Very well.” He glanced begrudgingly around the study they were in, irritated that he was to be stuck in here for the remainder of the afternoon after he had made such an effort to avoid it.

Clara bent and kissed his cheek. “I’ll come back when it’s supper time.”

Eric managed to plant a quick a quick kiss on her lips before she straightened. She laughed, shaking her head as she left the study.

The following hours were dull, but productive, and Eric heartily welcomed the sight of Clara when she returned at the promised time. The caress of her hands on his own as she greeted him was a wonderful relief, and he was certain he would never tire of her touch.


	10. The Doll Maker Part I

“Poor Major Mint,” said Clara. “We’ve probably driven him to madness this time.”

Eric grinned, looking completely unconcerned. “We left a note saying we’ll be back by lunch. I don’t see the problem.”

Clara smirked. “The problem is that I let you talk me into sneaking off for the morning with no one but our horses to accompany us.”

“You _wanted_ company?”

“No, but the major will be beside himself when he realizes we did not take anyone with us.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me to protect you?” he asked with mock offense.

“Of course I do, dear. But when Major Mint meets us at the castle gates, I will not hesitate to blame the entire idea on you.”

“Traitor,” muttered Eric.

Clara laughed. She tugged her horse to a stop and dismounted. Eric swung down from his horse and gave the animal a pat, watching it amble forward to graze.

They were in the woods not far from the castle. Having ridden into it for a couple of hours, they eventually came upon a small ravine. The woods continued on the other side of the gorge, which plunged fairly deep into the earth. The walls of the ravine were uneven, and many ledges had formed out of the dirt and tree roots, upon which plants and grass had grown. At the bottom of the ravine ran a thin stream.

It had rained heavily the night before, and the ground was still wet with morning dew. The smell of the moist soil mingled with the scent of pine, and sunlight spilled onto the ground where the trees were sparse, blanketing the place in a soft brightness.

Clara walked over to the edge of the ravine, peering into it curiously. “I wonder if we could to climb to the bottom,” she said lightly. “I suppose in my dress it would be a bit difficult, but I could figure out something.”

“Perhaps we should have gotten you some riding breeches,” Eric joked.

“Yes, and be the central topic of gossip for the next month,” said Clara humorously. “The queen of Parthenia, climbing down ravines in _breeches_.”

Eric grinned. “I wouldn’t mind you in them.”

“ _Eric_ ,” chided Clara with a laugh. She stepped closer to the edge. Some of the dirt, loose and damp from the rain, crumbled away beneath her feet, tumbling into the ravine.

“Clara –” Eric began worriedly.

“Oh, it’s fine, Eric. I simply –”

There was a low rumbling sound. Before Eric could lunge forward or Clara turn towards him, the ground suddenly gave way beneath her, and she plunged into the ravine with the broken earth.

“Clara!” Eric rushed to the gorge and dropped to his hands and knees, leaning over the edge.

About four meters down lay Clara, sprawled on a ledge jutting out from the ravine’s wall. Dirt and weeds covered her, having been torn away from the top ledge with her. She was on her back, her legs and arm splayed out limply. She was not moving.

“ _Clara!_ ” shouted Eric, panic rising in his throat. He turned away, yanking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, leaving him in his much looser shirt beneath. Unclipping the belt his sword hung from, he set the weapon on the ground, knowing it would only be a hinderance while climbing. Free of the restrictive burdens, he twisted around and looked back into the ravine.

Clara was gone.

Eric stared at the ledge, stunned. The terrifying thought of her having fallen deeper into the ravine crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it, as the ledge Clara had been on was not broken. Peering closer, Eric saw the impression of where Clara had lain – and the smudge of her body being dragged into the ravine wall.

 _There must be an opening I can’t see from this angle_. But that did little to soothe his nerves. Who – or what – had taken her?

Eric gritted his teeth and swung his legs over the ledge. Grasping a thick root curving out of the wall and using various crevices for his feet to brace in, he lowered himself into the ravine. He moved quickly, and when he had less than halfway to go he simply let himself drop, landing onto the ledge with a hard thud.

As suspected, there was a cave entrance. It was not wide, but it was plenty large enough for a person to walk through. Eric tightened his jaw, suddenly wishing he hadn’t left his sword behind. He considered going back for it, but the thought was brief. He needed to find Clara, and was unwilling to waste the time it would take to retrieve the weapon. Steeling himself against the trepidation growing within, he strode into the darkness.

With his hand trailing along the wall, it was easy to follow the cave’s passageway. He only went a short way before it turned sharply to the right – and opened into a large room.

Of everything Eric had been expecting, this was not it.

The cave had been transformed into a type of workshop. There was a large worktable pushed against the far wall, which was messily covered in wood carving and painting tools. A firepit was near the table, over which hung a pot filled with a mixture that gave off an oddly sweet smell. Chunks of wood had been piled beside a smaller table that was laden with various herbs and bottles.

But the strangest thing by far were the dolls.

They were everywhere. Dolls hanging from puppet strings tied to beams built into the room’s ceiling. Dolls standing against the walls. Dolls in pieces on the worktable with legs, arms, and heads left amongst the clutter. Ballerinas, jesters, soldiers – dolls of all shapes and sizes.

A chill crept down Eric’s back. He glanced about nervously, and his gaze finally fell upon Clara’s crumpled form. She was partially hidden, lying on the floor on the other side of the massive worktable.

Eric hurried to her, trying to ignore the way the dolls’ eyes seemed to follow him as he moved across the room. He knelt, drawing Clara into his lap. “Clara,” he said urgently. “Clara, please.” He placed two fingers beneath her jaw, his chest tightening as he waited.

Her pulse thrummed beneath his touch. Eric gasped in relief, brushing her hair from her face. “Clara, please. You _have_ to wake up.” He glanced over her body, but none of her limbs were twisted into odd angles. If fortune was on their side, Clara may not have broken any bones. The cliff had been slightly slanted, and Eric hoped that Clara’s body had slid down it instead of just falling directly to the ledge. He cupped her face, wiping away at the dirt smudged there. “Clara…”

“She is not seriously injured, if that is your concern.”

Eric whirled about. Standing by the worktable was a woman. She looked to be middle aged, with graying black hair tied back in a messy braid. She wore a ragged dress, which had multiple pockets sewn into its skirt haphazardly. Sticking out of the pockets were paintbrushes, braided locks of hair Eric hoped were meant for the dolls, and even some doll limbs. She was barefoot, and her feet were filthy. Yet despite her mangled appearance, her skin was oddly smooth. It looked almost porcelain-like in the firelight.

Eric frowned in distrust. “Who are you?”

“Theda,” the woman said simply. She cocked her head to the side in a rather mechanical manner, watching Eric with eyes that seemed too glassy for a human to have. “You are the king.” The statement was said with an odd hunger.

“Yes,” Eric said carefully. He longed to check Clara, who still had not moved, but he sensed it would be a mistake to take his focus off Theda. “Thank you for helping my wife.” He wasn’t sure if help was what the woman intended when she dragged Clara here, but he decided that ignorant politeness would be the best tactic to use until he better understood what she wanted.

Theda’s eyes flickered down to Clara. “She is a pretty thing,” she said tonelessly.

Eric tightened his grip on Clara. “Your work is impressive,” he said, hoping his unease did not filter through the pleasantness he was forcing into his words. “But why are you in such an isolated location? Surely it would be better to have a shop in the village.” He refrained from commenting on the ridiculousness of the location, let alone the near impossibility of it. Unless magic was involved.

“I do not sell my dolls,” said Theda. “And I prefer the solitude.” She continued to stare at Eric, her gaze unwavering. Now that he thought about it, Eric wasn’t sure she had blinked once since she had come into the room.

Unnerved, Eric adjusted Clara in his arms so he could carry her. “We should be going,” he said, moving to stand.

“How do you plan to haul her up the cliffside?” Theda asked curiously.

“Surely there is another way in,” said Eric. “How else would you have gotten your supplies down here?” He refrained from mentioning the idea of magic, wanting to see how the woman answered.

Theda simply smiled. But the expression stretched too wide across her face; it looked almost painted on, rather than a genuine emotion.

“I heard you were under an enchantment not long ago,” she said instead. “A nutcracker, were you not?”

He said nothing.

Theda gave her head a shake. “I see that you no longer wear that form. What a pity.”

Eric frowned.

Theda stepped closer to Eric, studying him. She gave a hum of approval. “I’m sure it was a beautiful body,” she said wistfully. “You have the right features for it.”

Disgust filtered into Eric’s expression, and he moved Clara further back.

“Will you not allow her to rest before attempting to move her?” inquired Theda. “Surely she needs it.”

“She’ll be well taken care of at the castle,” assured Eric coldly. He no longer felt a need to feign politeness for the woman, as Eric sincerely doubted that her intentions were honorable. He had to get Clara out of here.

“It has been far too long since I had _real_ inspiration to work with,” continued Theda. “Humans come by so rarely now.”

Eric glanced at the dolls dangling above him. Some of their features looked too real to be the simple talents of a doll maker.

Theda followed Eric’s gaze, studying the dolls with a satisfied glint in her eyes. Then she looked back at Eric. “I think a king would make a splendid addition to my collection.”


	11. The Doll Maker Part II

Eric felt his stomach drop at the doll maker’s words. Then he threw himself to the left, snatching up a wood carving knife that had rolled beneath the worktable. Pulling Clara close, he held the knife out.

“Show me the way out,” he snarled.

Theda eyed the knife coolly, looking rather bored by Eric’s demand.

Clara shifted in Eric’s arms, mumbling softly. Without thinking, Eric glanced down at his wife. “Clara?”

In that split-second distraction, Theda snapped her fingers. Immediately, loose puppet strings hanging from the ceiling beams snapped to life, stretching down to warp around Eric’s outstretched arm. The strings yanked harshly, tearing Eric away from Clara and dragging him forward. In his surprise the knife fell from his grip, tumbling to the dirt floor. Eric swung his free hand towards the knife, but another set of puppet strings coiled around his arm, wrenching him upright.

With Eric secured, Theda bent and retrieved the carving knife. She straightened, tapping the knife against her palm as she scrutinized him.

“I have not yet constructed a nutcracker,” she mused. “You’ll do very nicely for my first one.”

Icy fear pooled within Eric. “Are all these dolls victims of your magic?” he seethed. “Innocent people who had the misfortunate of stumbling upon you?”

Theda’s brow creased in confusion. “Innocent? What human is innocent, my king? You all are guilty of heinous deeds, no matter how insignificant you may think them to be.” Her mouth curved into its unnatural smile. “No, Your Majesty, they are not all enchanted. Most of them were created solely by my hand.” As she looked up at the dolls hanging above Eric, something close to adoration flickered in her unblinking eyes. “Are they not perfect? There is not one flaw among them.” She pointed the knife at Eric. “How lucky for you, to have experienced that perfection before.”

“There is nothing perfect about it,” spat Eric. “It is a curse.”

“A curse to never age?” Theda asked with raised eyebrows. “To always be beautiful? To have sickness and the hinderance of human emotions pass over you?” She shook her head. “It is a blessing.”

“You know nothing of it,” Eric snapped.

Theda smirked. “Perhaps. But I promise to spend a special amount of time on you. I would want nothing less than perfection for the king.” She slipped the carving knife into one of her skirt pockets. “Though I think we shall keep you silent. I don’t understand why your enchantment allowed speech before, as there is no need for a nutcracker to speak.”

Panic rushed through Eric. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

Behind him, Clara mumbled Eric’s name.

“Clara?” Eric twisted his head around, attempting to catch a glimpse of her. He looked back at Theda dangerously. “Don’t you touch her. Don’t you _dare_ touch her.”

“Eric…” Clara moaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Eric, wha…what happened…” Her eyes fluttered open, and Clara painstakingly pushed herself onto her side. She winced at the protests her bruised body made, blinking hard to focus her gaze.

“Let her go,” Eric said to Theda. “You _must_ let her go. Please.”

Theda looked amused by the request. She turned her attention to Clara, watching as she slowly sat up. Clara stared at Eric and Theda in confusion, as though unsure whether she was truly awake. She glanced about them, taking in the strange doll-infested cave. When she looked back at Eric, alarm had seized her expression.

“What –” She moved to stand.

Theda snapped her fingers once again, and more puppet strings flew down from the ceiling beams, wrapping around Clara’s arms and roughly pulling her to her feet.

“ _No!_ ” shouted Eric. “You let her go!”

“After I am done with you, she will be released,” said Theda, sounding completely indifferent to Clara’s fate. “I have no need for more ballerinas and princesses.” She gestured to a row of dolls above her, which wore varying tutus and gowns.

“What do you mean, done with him?” demanded Clara, the sluggishness of her senses quickly evaporating as she realized the real danger they were in. “Who are you? Where _are_ we?”

Theda ignored Clara. She walked over to the table with herbs and began pulling out various ingredients.

“Eric, what is going on?” Clara asked anxiously.

Eric yanked at the puppet strings, trying to calm his breathing as he stared up at the dolls watching him and Clara. _Not again. Not again. I can’t endure it again._

“ _Eric!_ ”

Eric snapped his head towards Clara. But he found that he could not bring himself to voice Theda’s intentions. He merely shook his head, his eyes full of fear for himself and anxiety for Clara’s safety as they locked gazes.

“He is to be returned to the perfection he had been bestowed with before,” Theda finally answered. Her back remained turned as she mixed herbs in a bowl. “He will be my most prized possession here.”

Clara looked at the surrounding dolls. Horror filtered into Clara’s eyes as she realized the meaning behind Theda’s words. “You _can’t_ ,” she said, her voice quivering. “Please, you can’t.”

“I do not understand your despair for him,” Theda said. “ _You_ are the unlucky one, for I have no need for you. You will continue on as a human, plagued by suffering and age.” Centering the bowl before her, she waved her hand over it. The contents of the bowl immediately burst into purple flames. She bent over the bowl and placed her face directly into the plume of lilac smoke drifting upwards, breathing deeply. After taking several breaths, she drew back and turned to Eric and Clara, her eyes unnaturally bright in the dimness of the room.

“What is that?” demanded Eric.

“It is not for you, my king,” said Theda. “The spell I am to perform on you is very draining, and I need as much energy as I can muster before doing so. These herbs provide that strength.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Clara said urgently. “Please, please let us go.”

Theda did not look at Clara as she approached Eric.

Eric strained at the puppet strings. “Don’t!” he ground out. “Don’t you _touch_ me.”

Unfazed, Theda reached out and grabbed Eric’s left wrist. She mumbled something under her breath, tightening her hand as she spoke. A gasp of pain escaped Eric, and he wrenched his arm in an attempt to free himself. But Theda’s grip held, her nails digging into his skin. Eric cried out, his hand curling into a fist as he struggled against her.

“Get away from him!” shouted Clara. “Take your hands off him!”

Theda brushed her free hand against the strings binding Eric. They snapped, and Eric collapsed to the floor. Stepping free of Eric’s reach, Theda watched him with a wild eagerness.

But Eric seemed incapable of standing, much less able to try and attack Theda. He gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut in pain as his arm twitched spastically. He curled on his side, clutching his left arm as it stiffened.

“ _No!_ ” Tears welled in Clara’s eyes. “Please, please stop it!”

Theda turned to Clara, watching with disgusted fascination as tears streaked down Clara’s cheeks. Pity flickered in Theda’s eyes, though it was similar to what one would reserve for the most pathetic of creatures, nothing more. She frowned in faint irritation. “If it will make you leave with less resistance, you may say your goodbye.” Theda snapped her fingers, and the strings holding Clara’s arms broke. Freed, Clara rushed to Eric’s side.

“Eric!” exclaimed Clara, dropping to her knees beside her husband.

Eric’s eyes were hazy as he looked at Clara. “Clara,” he gasped. “Go. You have to go.”

“No,” sobbed Clara. “No, I won’t.” She stroked the sides of his face, weeping as she cradled him.

“You _must_ ,” choked Eric. “You…” He gave an agonized groan, his body writhing.

Clara looked down at Eric’s left arm. It was completely stiff, and the skin of his hand, now a painted white, had taken on the texture of polished wood.

“I love you, Clara,” said Eric, his voice strained. He raised his right hand to her cheek, and Clara’s heart ached at how cold it felt. “Don’t ever forget that.”

Clara shook her head, unwilling to say her goodbye, unwilling to believe that she was to leave him behind. Instead, she pulled his face to hers and pressed a desperate kiss to his lips. Eric shuddered, bringing his still-human hand to the back of her head to hold her steady as he returned the kiss. Then he wrenched away, his chest heaving for breath.

“Eric?” Clara asked worriedly.

Eric’s body gave a violent jolt. He grasped Clara’s arm with his good hand, inhaling sharply. Then his eyebrows twitched together in confusion. His body stilled, and he glanced up at Clara.

“Clara,” he whispered. “You…your kiss…” He looked down at his left arm. Clara followed his gaze and stared in wonder.

His skin was steadily regaining its natural tan. The texture of his arm was softening, losing its wooden surface in exchange for smooth flesh. Clara grasped his left hand, and gave a relieved sob as his fingers slowly curled over hers. She looked back at Eric, and he smiled wearily.

“ _No!_ ” cried Theda. She grabbed Clara, tearing her away from Eric. Eric lunged forward, but Theda snapped her fingers. The puppet strings flew down, wrapping around his arms once again and yanking him to a stop.

Theda whirled on Clara, who was crouched on the floor. “ _You_ ,” she hissed. “You possess magic. _What is it?_ What kind of magic can reverse my spell?” She pointed threateningly at Clara. “Tell me what it is, before I claw its source from your chest.”

Clara gritted her teeth, courage burning in her anew at the revitalization of the power that had saved Eric once before. “You will not have my husband,” she said viciously. “You will release him, and any other prisoners you have trapped here.”

Theda gave a sharp laugh. “Will I? Or perhaps I will revoke my merciful offer of allowing you to leave. After all…” She ran a finger along the puppet string binding Eric’s arm. “A queen should be by her king’s side. You two would make an exquisite pair.”

Clara pushed herself to her feet, glaring at Theda. “I do not believe your powers will work on me,” she said, raising her chin defiantly. “But you are welcome to try.”

Theda snarled and snapped her hand away from Eric. She strode forward, eyes hateful as she advanced on Clara. Eric struggled against the strings, but they held.

Clara stood tall and regal, no fear in her eyes as Theda’s hand snatched out and grabbed her wrist. Theda wrenched Clara’s arm up, squeezing tightly as she muttered her incantation once again. Clara winced at the pressure, but did not try to break free. For a long moment the two women simply stared at each other, their arms raised between them.

Then Theda grimaced. Her hand constricted around Clara’s wrist, and she stared at her skin in disbelief. Clara looked too, and her eyes widened in surprise.

Theda’s fingers were beginning to harden. Flesh solidified into wood, and the infectious magic seeped over her hand and up her wrist.

Theda ripped her hand away from Clara. “What… _how?_ ” She clawed at the wood, but it continued unhindered, spreading towards her shoulder. “This is impossible!” she shrieked, her voice brimming with equal terror and rage. “This cannot be!” She looked back up at Clara. “ _You!_ ” Theda cried, throwing herself at Clara.

Clara dodged the swiping hand, stumbling into the workshop table. Theda spun about to face Clara again, but when she took a step her leg buckled beneath her. Panic on her face, Theda partially lifted her skirt to reveal a now wooden leg. Her second leg stiffened, and Theda let out a cry as she collapsed to the floor. She screamed, her wail reverberating off the walls chillingly as she thrashed about.

Clara hurried to Eric’s side and reached for the strings securing him. To her surprise, they broke easily under her touch, and Eric staggered forward into Clara’s arms.

“Clara,” he said breathlessly. “We have to…” He words trailed off, and he drew Clara against him as they watched in horror.

Theda was shrinking, her body hardening and limbs straightening. Once she was the size of a regular doll she stilled. All sense of cognizance faded from her eyes, and the painted glass orbs stared blankly ahead.

Silence engulfed the cave.

Clara glanced up at Eric, who was staring at Theda’s doll body. “Eric?”

Eric blinked and refocused his attention to Clara. “Did you know you could do that?” he asked in awe.

Clara shook her head. “I don’t think that was me,” she said. “At least, I didn’t _curse_ her. I think whatever is inside of me…” She struggled to find the words to explain it. “It simply turned the curse back onto her.” Fear flashed in her eyes as she mentioned the spell, and she grabbed Eric’s left hand to examine it. Reassured that it was as normal as ever, she pressed a kiss to it, sighing in relief.

Eric pulled Clara into an embrace. “Thank you. Again.” He laughed weakly. “We’re going to have to figure out exactly what your magic is, Clara. I’m incredibly curious, now more than ever.”

“You weren’t impressed before?” she said with a smile, pulling away to properly look at him.

Eric chuckled. “I was. But now I think you’re keeping things from me,” he teased.

Clara shook her head, grinning shakily. Eric wrapped his arms around Clara again, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. He gave a shuddering breath, exhaling the fear that had coiled within him.

Clara tucked her head against Eric, her nerves calming as she felt his chest rise and fall with his breathing. Then she broke the embrace, pulling away in alarm. “The other dolls,” she said, glancing about them. “Are they all cursed as well?” She looked appalled by the idea.

“Theda said only some were,” said Eric. “But I have no idea which ones specifically.”

Clara tilted her head up thoughtfully, studying the hanging row of dolls closest to them. She moved away from Eric and approached them. Raising her hand, she brushed her fingertips over the first doll’s surface. She was silent, her brow creasing she concentrated. “No,” she muttered. She touched the next and paused, then moved on to the third one. It wasn’t until she was halfway down the row that she stopped.

“This one.” She tugged free the puppet strings holding a jester and lowered the doll so that it rested in her hands.

Eric walked over to her side. “How do you know?”

“I just do. Somehow,” said Clara curiously.

“Now what?”

Clara turned the doll over, inspecting it. She frowned, frustrated with her uncertainty of what to do next.

Hesitantly, she raised the doll to her lips and pressed a soft kiss to its forehead.

For a second, nothing happened. Then a wave of magic rippled through the doll. Clara hastily set it on the floor and she and Eric backed up, watching with fascination at the doll grew and morphed into a human man.

He looked not much older than Eric. He was still wearing the jester outfit, but the hat had tumbled off, revealing a mop of sandy hair. He fumbled about on the floor, his body trembling from the aftereffects of the transformation. Seeing Eric and Clara standing over him he jerked back, fear in his eyes.

Clara knelt and held her hands out. “Don’t be afraid. We’re here to help.”

“The…the woman…the woman with the shining eyes…” sputtered the young man.

“She’s gone,” said Eric. He crouched down. “You’re safe now.”

Relief washed over the man’s expression and he nodded anxiously, his eyes darting about the cave.

“Eric, stay with him,” said Clara. She stood. “I’ll find the rest.”

There were fifteen other cursed dolls. Clara cured them easily, though it took some time to calm them and explain everything. Finally, they were prepared to leave.

“What about her?” Clara asked, gesturing to Theda’s doll form.

Eric grimaced. “I suppose we should take her,” he said reluctantly. “Secure her somewhere.”

Clara nodded and walked over to a cot that had been pushed against the far wall of the room. She ripped a musty blanket from it and securely wrapped Theda in the cloth.

“I’ll carry it,” said Eric, though he looked revolted by the idea.

Clara shook her head. “No, I will,” she said firmly. She tucked the bundle under her arm, giving Eric a look that barred any further arguments. After what Theda had nearly done, she refused to let Eric carry it.

Going deeper into the cave, they discovered a hidden second passageway. It led back up to the woods, the entrance to it concealed within a stack of boulders piled against a sloping hillside. Upon emerging into the woods, some of the people Clara had revived immediately set off on their own, insisting that they knew the way to their homes. Clara had been reluctant to let them go, and instructed them to come to the castle if they needed anything.

The others agreed to accompany Clara and Eric to the castle. A few had been prisoners of Theda for many years, and they were unsure of where their families may be now, especially since the Mouse King’s reign had passed during their curses. Clara and Eric promised to help them in any way possible, assuring them that they could stay at the castle until their families were found.

Fortunately, Clara and Eric’s horses were still near the ledge Clara had tumbled off of. They led their horses by the reins, keeping a brisk walking pace with the rest of the survivors as they headed back to the castle.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Eric asked in concern, eyeing Clara.

Clara smiled tiredly. “Just a little bruised. Nothing serious. I slid down the cliff some ways before hitting my head, so I think that saved me from breaking anything.”

“And how _is_ your head?”

Clara cringed. “Throbbing,” she admitted. “But I’ll be fine.”

Eric sighed. “I’d feel better if you rode your horse.”

“No one else has a horse to ride.”

“No one else took a fall off a cliff and struck their head.” Eric reached out and grabbed the reins of Clara’s horse, tugging it to a stop. “Please, Clara. For me.”

Seeing the pleading look in his eyes, Clara let out a defeated breath. “Very well. For you.” She allowed Eric to help her into the saddle, hoping she didn’t look as dizzy as she felt after walking for so long.

By the time they arrived back at the castle, Major Mint was waiting for them frantically at the gates. His irritation quickly drained away into confusion and concern, and he ushered the haggard group inside. Food was provided while Eric and Clara explained the situation to the astounded Major Mint and Captain Candy. It was immediately decided that a group of soldiers would go back to the cave and burn everything inside. As for Theda, Eric suggested placing her in a box made of rowan wood, which was known for its properties of warding off evil. It would then be locked inside an iron chest and secured in the weapon’s room. Candy promised to do this while Clara was being attended to.

Knowing that Major Mint would see to the others’ needs, Clara and Eric went to their rooms, where Dr. Astros was sent to upon his arrival. Besides the bruising from her fall, the only other notable injury Clara suffered from was a slight concussion, which Dr. Astros said would best be treated by a few days’ rest from any strenuous activities. With nothing else serious for Dr. Astros to attend to, he soon left, wishing Clara a quick recovery. Eric had a bowl of cold water and a handful of washcloths sent up, to use to reduce the bruises’ swelling.

Clara grimaced as she lay face-down on their bed, apprehensive of Eric’s reaction as he exposed her battered body. Black and blue splotches had blossomed along her right side and lower back, and Clara could not help the sigh of relief as Eric helped her out of her constricting corset. He was particularly gentle as he laid the cool damp cloths over her bruises, pressing soft kisses and whispered apologies to the unblemished skin around them. When he was done, he lay on his side beside her. Clara grasped his hand, pressing her lips to his knuckles.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Am _I_ alright?” Eric shook his head. “Clara, you’re the one who’s injured. _I_ should be asking you that question.”

Clara gave a quiet laugh. “You have been. All afternoon.” She reached out, stroking his hair. “I didn’t mean it in a physical sense.”

Eric sighed, his expression conflicted as he debated how to answer.

“You can be honest with me, Eric,” said Clara. Her fingers brushed over his ear, then threaded back into his thick locks. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

“I know,” murmured Eric. He pressed his lips together in discomfort. “I was afraid. I was… _terrified_. It was so similar. The pain, the tightening of the lungs as the air is forced from them, your senses being stripped from you…” His voice wavered, and he let the words trail off.

Tears welled in Clara’s eyes. She pulled Eric close, resting her forehead against his. “I told you that I trusted you to protect me,” she said softly. “Now I need you to trust me. For I will protect you too.”

Eric smiled. “I know.” He kissed her forehead. “I know you will.”

After a while Eric removed the washcloths and, careful of her injuries, drew Clara into his lap as they settled against their bed’s pillows. He whispered his love to her, and she murmured it back, eventually falling asleep in his arms.

With her, Eric felt the safety he craved. They would provide it for each other, and he knew that would be more than enough.


	12. A Perfect Birthday Gift

Elizabeth Drosselmeyer smiled as she walked down one of the hallways of the Parthenian castle. Large windows had been built into the western wall of the hallway, allowing the afternoon sunlight to spill onto the floor with magnificent brightness. The warmth easily lifted her spirits, which had been waning from the dullness of life at home. How glad she was to be back in Parthenia; it had been far too long since her last visit.

The sound of running feet gave Elizabeth little warning before a young boy whirled around the hallway corner and smacked right into her. Elizabeth’s breath left her in a rush, and she stumbled back at the sudden impact.

“What in heaven’s name –”

“Sorry, ma’am!” The boy sputtered, staggering back. He looked to be about ten years of age, with the wiry build of a growing child. The boy jerked his head up, and his eyes widened in surprised delight. “Lady Drosselmeyer! I didn’t know you were coming!”

Elizabeth’s mouth curved into an amused smirk. “Hello, Eric.” She opened her arms, and the boy rushed forward into her embrace. Elizabeth chuckled, affectionately tugging at the strands of the boy’s unruly black hair. “You’re looking a little disheveled. You aren’t running from someone, are you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be at your lessons right now?”

Eric gave her an impish grin. Down the hallway he had burst form, Elizabeth could hear distant – and rather furious – shouting. Eric cocked his head in the direction of the sound, then turned back to Elizabeth and grabbed her hand, pulling her after him as they ran down the hallway in the opposite direction.

Eric expertly led Elizabeth through the winding hallways, tugging her up a narrow staircase until they emerged onto an open corridor overlooking the castle courtyard. Satisfied that they hadn’t been followed, Eric released Elizabeth’s hand as they came to a stop.

Elizabeth grasped the railing of the corridor, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Eric, what did you do to the poor major?”

“Nothing,” said Eric innocently. He pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a laugh.

Elizabeth placed a hand on her hip. “A prince should never tell a lie.”

“I didn’t do anything to _him_ ,” Eric said pointedly. He cast a humorous glance back at the staircase they had climbed. “Technically it was his coat pocket I dropped it in.”

“Oh dear.” She sighed. “Please don’t tell me it was something _alive_.”

“Alright, I won’t tell you.”

Elizabeth grimaced in sympathy for the major. “Eric, have some pity for the man. He’s doing his best with your tutoring.”

“He’s boring and full of himself.”

“You’re not exactly a picture of good behavior yourself, dear.”

Eric’s grin took on a rather mischievous slant.

Elizabeth shook her head in exasperation. “Eric, you need to know the information taught in your studies. It’s important.”

“I finished the book he assigned a week ago,” said Eric. “The major just drones on about it, or spends most the lesson talking about his military accomplishments that, honestly, I think are highly exaggerated.”

Privately, Elizabeth concurred with that sentiment, but she refrained from speaking the thought out loud. “Your father is not going to be happy when he hears about this.”

“But now _you’re_ here, so you can defend me,” Eric said cheerfully. “Father would never disagree with _you_.”

She shook her head, unable to hide her amusement.

“Your Highness, shouldn’t you be attending your lessons?”

Startled, Elizabeth and Eric spun around at the deep, callous voice.

A man stood behind them. He had a strange appearance, with a small, pointed nose that tipped upwards, and a thin face framed by ears that looked a fraction too large for him. His mouth was lined at the corners, accenting the disapproving frown that seemed more like a permanent feature than a temporary expression.

“Lord Mauscher.” Elizabeth dipped into a small, and rather half-hearted, curtsey. “I trust you are in good health?”

“Well enough,” said Lord Mauscher coldly. He turned narrowed eyes onto Eric. “Why you are not at your lessons?”

“It’s none of _your_ concern,” snapped Eric, his smile quickly vanishing at the sight of the man.

“ _Eric_ ,” scolded Elizabeth.

“Well it’s not,” Eric huffed.

Amusement flickered through Lord Mauscher ‘s expression. “No, I don’t suppose it is. Who am I to judge how a prince wastes his time?”

Elizabeth hastily spoke before Eric could supply a response they would both regret. “Eric was merely taking a slight rest from his lessons. He will be returning to them shortly.”

“I see.” Lord Mauscher tilted his chin down, scrutinizing the young prince with displeasure. “I’m certain your lessons can be exhausting, Your Highness. Do forgive me.”

Eric frowned at the blatant sarcasm in the man’s tone.

“Thank you for the concern.” Elizabeth placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder, steering him around the man. “I shall escort him back safely. Good afternoon, my lord.”

Lord Mauscher did not respond, though he remained where he was, watching Elizabeth and Eric continue down the corridor.

Shaking her head at Eric, Elizabeth ushered the boy along. They went through a set of large doors, and Elizabeth herded the young prince into a long hallway leading away from the courtyard.

Annoyed, Eric ducked out from beneath Elizabeth’s hand. “Why does father keep him here? He gives me the creeps.”

“Because Lord Mauscher is an excellent asset to your father,” said Elizabeth. “He is the absolute best at what he does.”

“He’s unnerving to be around.”

“Well, that I cannot argue with,” Elizabeth agreed.

Eric smirked. “Doesn’t he look like a giant mouse?”

“Eric!”

“He _does_. His face is so strange-looking. I’ve heard some of the servants call him the Mouse Man.”

“Well, you had better not repeat the awful name, or I shall not interfere when your father decides to punish you for harassing poor Major Mint.”

Eric gave a humph at the threat.

“Come now,” said Elizabeth, giving Eric a pat as they walked beside each other. “Let us talk of better things.” She snapped her fingers. “I know what we can do. I need your help with something.”

Interest lit up Eric’s eyes. “What is it?”

“Deciding a on a birthday gift for someone.”

“A birthday gift?” said Eric curiously. “For who?”

“Someone about your age. Well, a few years younger.”

“How about a sword?” Eric jumped forward, slashing out his arm in a dramatic arc. “Everyone needs a sword to play with!”

Elizabeth chuckled. “I don’t think she would use a sword very much.”

“Oh, it’s for a girl?” Eric scrunched up his nose. “I don’t know what a _girl_ would want.”

“You can’t think of anything?” Elizabeth asked curiously. “What if I tell you about her? Maybe you’ll have a better idea then.”

Eric didn’t look convinced. “Alright,” he agreed reluctantly.

Elizabeth smiled. “Well, she’s a quiet girl. Not that she doesn’t talk – she certainly has plenty of things to say, when they are important. She just doesn’t…carry on as you do.”

Eric threw Elizabeth an irritated look.

Ignoring him, Elizabeth tapped her chin thoughtfully. “She loves the ballet. Her mother had taken her a few times when she was younger, but she hasn’t gone again since her parents passed away.”

Empathetic sympathy flickered in Eric’s eyes. He scuffed his shoe against the floor, trying not to dwell on the memories of his own deceased mother.

“She enjoys reading,” continued Elizabeth. “Her favorites are romantic fairy tales.”

Eric rolled his eyes.

Elizabeth smirked, watching Eric’s reaction closely as she continued. “She can be rather devious at times, though. She has to hide the fairy tale books in her wardrobe, so her grandfather doesn’t find them. He doesn’t approve of her reading such ‘nonsense,’ as he describes it.”

Eric looked genuinely interested now. “Where does she get the books then?”

“From me.”

Eric snorted.

Looking smug, Elizabeth swept on in her description. “She loves sledding, ice skating, and watching snowfalls. Winter is easily her favorite season.” She gave her hand a wave. “I suppose that’s enough for a start. What do you think now? Can you help me decide on a gift?”

Eric gave a sigh. “But she’s a _girl_. I don’t know what girls want.”

Elizabeth pondered for a moment. “Well, what gifts did you and your father give your mother?”

Eric stopped. He looked up at Elizabeth, intrigue at her question mingling with remembered sorrow that always rose up when his thoughts drifted back to his mother.

Elizabeth held back a grimace, worried that the question had been inappropriate to ask.

Eric’s gaze drifted to a window, which he stared out of as he thought. “Father gave mother a snow globe one year for her birthday. It was the last one before she…” He swallowed.

Regret swelled in Elizabeth at her prompting. She wrapped her arm around the young prince’s shoulders. “A snow globe is a beautiful present,” she said gently. “Would you mind if I used the idea for my gift?”

Eric shrugged. He wiped his hand hastily over his eyes before lifting his gaze to Elizabeth’s. “You should see if Hoffmann can make you one,” he said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“Well now, _there’s_ an idea!” said Elizabeth brightly. The thought of asking the castle’s royal enchanter to lend his talents to the gift had crossed her mind, and she was glad to hear Eric’s thoughts aligned with hers. “But first,” she said, holding up a finger. “You must apologize to Major Mint and finish your lesson. _After_ that we shall go to Hoffmann.”

Eric groaned.

Three hours later, after a reluctant apology, a severe lecture from the king, and a double history lesson from the major as punishment, Eric was finally released.

“Happy  _now?_ ” Eric said in exasperation. “I think I nearly passed out from boredom listening to the major drone on for _two hours_.”

“Yes, how terrible for you,” said Elizabeth tonelessly. She waved him along the corridor. “Hurry along. I had spoken to Hoffmann while you were _suffering_ , and he’s waiting for us.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the enchanter’s work chamber. Eric provided the main source of ideas for how the snow globe should look, which Hoffmann easily followed. Finally, the gift was complete.

The base of the snow globe was solid gold, and decorated with intricate patterns that weaved through each other in dreamy swirls and loops. Inside the snow globe was a castle modeled closely after the one they were currently in. It sat on a snowy hill, which was dotted in deep green pine trees. When flipped, snow would drift down cheerily, and Hoffmann magicked it so that the snowfall lasted longer. He also added a music box into the snow globe’s base, which he enchanted to play a ballet song Elizabeth hummed to him for reference. Thanks to Hoffmann, the snow globe would never shatter if dropped, nor would the music box mechanisms ever wear down.

Thrilled, Elizabeth heartily thanked the enchanter and paid him a sum of money for his labor. Bidding Hoffmann a good evening, Elizabeth and Eric made their way towards the rooms Elizabeth was staying in.

“Will she like it?” asked Eric, eager in spite of his initial reservations about the gift.

“I think she will _love_ it,” said Elizabeth adamantly. She smiled warmly at the prince. “Thank you for the wonderful idea.”

Eric tilted his head thoughtfully. “Does she live nearby? How soon is her birthday?”

“She lives far from here, I’m afraid,” said Elizabeth. “But if I time the world crossing correctly, I should make it back in time for her birthday. I shall have to leave soon, though.”

“Oh,” said Eric in disappointment.

“Which means you have to be on your best behavior while I’m gone,” Elizabeth said. “For your father’s sanity, at the very least.”

Eric gave a sigh. “I shall try.”

“Well, I suppose that’s the best I’m going to receive from you,” laughed Elizabeth. She waved impatiently. “Now go on and get ready for supper.”

“You’ll be dining with us, won’t you?” Eric asked hopefully.

“Of course,” said Elizabeth. “I haven’t had a proper conversation with your father all day, thanks to you.” She patted Eric. “Though it was well worth it. I can’t imagine a better gift.”

/

“Aunt Elizabeth! You’re here!”

Beaming, Elizabeth opened her arms to embrace her niece and nephew as they ran to her.

“Hello, my darlings!” she exclaimed. “How I’ve missed you both!” She stood back, examining the siblings. “Tommy, how you’ve grown! And Clara, you look absolutely lovely in that dress.”

“Grandfather bought it for my birthday!” Clara exclaimed. She twirled, letting the pink fabric swirl out around her.

“How wonderful of him!” Watching her niece adoringly, Elizabeth pulled forth a box wrapped in violet gift paper. A white lace bow was tied over its lid.

Clara gave a gasp of delight and sprang forward. “Oh, Aunt Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth smiled. “Perhaps you can open it before the birthday supper?”

Clara turned to look at her grandfather, who was standing near the parlor’s fireplace. “Oh Grandfather, may I?” She clasped her hands together, her eyes pleading. “Please, may I?”

Her grandfather frowned. “We always open gifts _after_ supper, Clara. You know that.”

Sobering, Clara gave a nod. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Her grandfather studied her. Then he let out a sigh. “However, I suppose one gift won’t make a difference.”

Clara immediately brightened. “Thank you!” She ran over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Flustered by the ecstatic display of affection, he waved her off. “Go on, go on,” he said brusquely. But his tone was notably warmer than before.

Clara hurried to the parlor’s sofa, which Elizabeth had already settled onto. Uninterested, Tommy wandered off to amuse himself until suppertime.

“Happy Birthday, darling,” Elizabeth said as she handed over the box.

Clara placed the box on her lap and tugged the bow free. Tearing the paper away, she lifted the box’s lid and peered inside. A happy cry escaped her, and she reached inside, pulling out a shimmering snow globe.

“Aunt Elizabeth, it’s _beautiful!_ ” she exclaimed. She hastily pushed aside the gift box and set the snow globe on her legs. “It looks like a castle from a fairy tale!” She turned the snow globe over, sending the snowflakes inside swirling about the glass dome. Noticing the tiny crank on the bottom of the golden base, she twisted it clockwise a few times, then set the snow globe upright.

Music tinkered softly from the snow globe. Clara’s face lit up, and she looked up at her aunt. “My favorite song! How ever did you find such a perfect gift, Aunt Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth smiled coyly. “I had a little help.”

“Thank you so much,” Clara said, embracing her aunt tightly.

Satisfied with the apparent normalcy of Elizabeth’s gift, Clara’s grandfather left the parlor to check on the supper preparations.

Elizabeth pressed a kiss to her niece’s cheek. “Of course, my dear.” Seeing that they were alone, she winked at Clara and gave the snow globe a tap. “Perhaps someday I’ll take you to a place just like this.”

“That would be wonderful,” said Clara dreamily.

Elizabeth smiled. “Until then, I’ll just have to satisfy your curiosity with my stories.” She settled back against the sofa cushions. “Why just the other day, the most extraordinary thing happened to me…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, we are going *super* deep into headcanon territory for this one. I’m guessing you all figured out who Lord Mauscher is supposed to be. So let me explain.
> 
> A Simple Touch is meant to be a more mature look at Clara and Eric’s romance, with more realistic elements used to achieve that maturity. Which might be ridiculous, since this is all based on a Barbie movie that is based on a story that’s kind of the Christmas version of Alice in Wonderland (dreams, and weirdness, etc). Realism shouldn’t be a concern. But I’m *always* trying to logically fit things together and explain things, so I found myself asking, “why in the heck would the king have a freaking MOUSE as his advisor????”
> 
> Lord Mauscher comes from a few inspirations. One is the 2015 German film version of The Nutcracker, Nussknacker und Mausekönig. I don’t know German (sadly) and the youtube upload I saw had no subtitles, but from what I gathered, the Mouse King could switch between mouse and human forms (??). I’ve also read fantasy books where things like swords are enchanted so that only a certain user or bloodline can use them. If someone else uses the sword or whatever, they could become cursed.  
> So pasting different ideas together, I came up with this: 
> 
> Eric’s father’s scepter is specifically meant for that royal bloodline. Only they can use it properly and without harm. If someone else uses it, it curses them. Eric’s father entrusted the scepter to Lord Mauscher until Eric was ready for it, and the king ensured that Lord Mauscher would be able to use it so as long it didn’t harm any members of the royal bloodline. But then Lord Mauscher cursed Eric and started using it to hurt the people of Parthenia. Doing this cursed him as well, until he started resembling what people had secretly nicknamed him: a mouse.
> 
> That’s what I’m going with for my fanfic, because I can’t handle the idea of the king sitting down for tea with a giant mouse and chatting it up with him lol. Not for my version of the story, at least.


	13. Till Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snippets revolving around the theme of sleep. Each section takes place in different parts of Eric and Clara’s early years of marriage. Cause I really just wanted an excuse to write cuddling.

In the weeks leading up to her wedding to Eric, Clara hadn’t thought much of the prospect of sharing a bed with someone. She had never done so before, but she was not terribly concerned by the idea. After all, being made for the king and queen, the bed certainly would not be lacking in size.

It was after they were married that she realized if she _had_ worried about it, she would have had some right to do so.

Because it turned out that Eric liked to be close when they slept. Exceptionally close. It did not matter that their mattress was large enough for at least four people to lay side-by-side, nor did it matter if they fell asleep with space between them. Somehow Eric always rolled close to her in his sleep, pressing against her in a manner that was almost suffocating, with his arm often draping over her.

At first, Clara found it endearing. But after the novelty of Eric’s unconsciously done habit wore off, she sometime would try to wiggle away from him, if only to escape the heat of their bodies, and to breathe more freely. Yet that did not last long, for eventually he would shift closer to her once again.

“Eric…” she whispered one night, twisting her head around to look at him. She grimaced at the feeling of her hair pulling away from her neck, which was sticky with sweat due to the summer night’s heat. She tugged at his arm slung over her torso, hoping to escape and roll onto the cooler side of the mattress. “Eric…darling…”

“Mm…?” he mumbled, half-asleep.

Despite her exasperation, Clara could not help a smile. She found that she couldn’t bring herself to try and pull away, not with how content he looked. “Oh, never mind,” she sighed, kissing his forehead.

/

As Eric became busier in the months following their wedding, there were multiple times when Clara went to bed on her own. Eric continued to work into the night, and Clara would try to wait for him, but often fell asleep doing so. She also began to notice how less frequently he would roll close to her in his sleep. Had Eric not been so consumed by work, she might have been somewhat grateful for the change. But she worried that this new pattern was due to how overly tired he was, with his body lapsing from his usual habits because of exhaustion.

Unlike Eric, Clara was a light sleeper, so when he did finally come to bed on those late nights, she was usually rocked back into awareness by the dipping of the mattress beneath his weight. She didn’t mind though, preferring to greet him if she was awake.

“What time is it?” she mumbled.

“Don’t know,” he said wearily. “I stopped checking after midnight.” He settled facedown into the bed with a tired groan.

Clara frowned. Christmas was coming soon, and the castle was planning on celebrating the holiday for the first time. She had hoped that things would have calmed down for Eric by now. “You shouldn’t be working so many long nights,” she said in concern. She rubbed her hand over his back, relieved as his muscles relaxed beneath her touch.

Eric made a sound into his pillow that Clara wasn’t sure was a noise of agreement or argument.

Sympathy flickered over her face as she ran her fingers up his spine. “I’ll cancel my plans tomorrow and spend the day helping you instead.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“How fortunate for you that you have no say in the matter.” Clara smiled, though the expression looked rather dismal, tinted by worry for him. She kneaded the heel of her palm against a knot in Eric’s shoulder, and he groaned in relief at the feeling. “I’ve decided.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Clara kissed Eric’s temple. “Just sleep, love.”

Eric sighed tiredly. With Clara’s hand working at the soreness of his back, he soon fell asleep. Satisfied at seeing the tension ebb from his body, she stayed curled up beside him until morning.

/

The bed felt exceptionally empty tonight.

Clara rolled over, staring at the tangled blankets strewn over the mattress. She pressed her lips together, torn between the anger still stewing in her chest and the undeniable ache for his presence as she lay there.

The fight seemed ridiculous now. Well, perhaps the reasoning behind the disagreement wasn’t petty, but it was unfortunate that it had grown into such a heated quarrel.

She knew world traveling was difficult because of the time shifts. She and Eric had managed to control the extent of them with the scepter, lessening the loss of time down to a few days, or about a week at the most. Which was a miracle in itself. Yet it still was an irritating side effect of traveling, and one that Eric wasn’t currently willing to sacrifice time for.

They were simply too busy right now to lose a week to travel. Clara knew this, but she wanted to talk to Eric about visiting her grandfather and brother in the near future anyway. When she brought it up, Eric’s response had been rather sharp. Clara knew now, after contemplating on the argument in the lonely aftermath, that he hadn’t meant it to be – it had simply been a result of the long day they both had had. She had seen the instant regret in his eyes as the words tumbled from his mouth, but she had been too annoyed by his tone to acknowledge it.

Her reply hadn’t been very civil either, and a fight quickly exploded from there. Eric finally left the room and, hours later, still hadn’t returned.

She sighed and turned onto her back to stare at the bedroom ceiling. She couldn’t go to sleep, not with the things they had said to each other rolling about her mind. She pushed back the sheets and slid out of the bed, welcoming the coolness of the floor as she stood on it. Distracted, she didn’t bother pulling a robe over her nightgown as she lit a candle and wandered into the corridor outside her and Eric’s rooms.

Eventually she came to the library doors. She hoped she was right about her guess as to where he was. She reached for the door handle, but before her fingers could wrap around it, the door swung open.

Clara jerked back in surprise, then looked up into the equally startled face of Eric. His hair was a mess, either from failed attempts at sleep or from agitated hands running through it. Or maybe both. His rumpled clothes only enhanced the disoriented look, with his shirt collar laying open at his collarbone.

“Clara,” he said quietly. There was regret in his voice, along with vague trepidation. “I was coming to find you.”

“And I you.”

Eric grimaced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I was tired, but that’s not an excuse. Of course I want to see your family. I just –”

“I did not mean we should go now,” said Clara gently. “I should have specified better when I mentioned it. I know it’s been rather busy as of late. I’m sorry too.”

Eric let out a sigh. “I promise, once things calm down, we’ll visit them.”

“I know. We’ll go when we can.” She looked past him into the library. The room had a warm glow, illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace. “Were you going to sleep here all night?”

“I had been planning on begging for your forgiveness first,” Eric replied, the corner of his mouth curving upwards. “And if you threw me out, _then_ I’d try sleeping here.”

Clara laughed softly. She took his hand, and felt the weight on her chest lift when he squeezed it. “Can we sit for a bit?”

Eric nodded and stepped aside so Clara could enter the library. He closed the door behind her and they walked over to the library’s sofa, settling onto it. Clara hesitated, then set down her candle and shifted closer to Eric. He seemed surprised by the movement, as though expecting her to still want some distance from him. Realizing her crave for touch, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, kissing her head.

“You said that,” Clara murmured.

“I know. I just wanted you to hear it again.”

Clara turned further towards him, slinging her arm over his stomach so that her hand rested against his hip. She closed her eyes, focusing on his scent: the soap his shirt had been washed in, the ink staining his hands after spending hours in the study, the faint smell of fresh hay. Clara smiled and curled her hand over his hip, bunching up the fabric of his untucked shirt. He must have spent some time in the stables after their argument. It seemed to be one of his favorite places to go when he wanted to be alone.

“When we do visit them, you can’t bring Tommy another one of Hoffmann’s gifts,” Clara said with a yawn. “Grandfather is still furious about the last one.” Her grandfather had no idea it was magic, of course, but it had been strange – and slightly destructive – enough for him to warrant a complaint.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” smirked Eric.

Clara briefly tightened her hand on his hip in a half-hearted warning. “No magical gifts.”

“Tommy loves them.”

“Grandfather will have your head if you do it again.”

“Hm.” Eric pulled Clara’s hair back over her shoulder, weaving his fingers through the golden strands. “We’ll have to see.”

Clara shook her head in exasperation, too tired to debate the issue any further. Feeling vastly more relaxed after their reconciliation, she soon fell asleep. At first, Eric considered carrying her up to their bed. But sleep was tugging heavily at him, and he settled for nestling his head against hers, not bothered by the soreness he knew he would feel in the morning from the position he was sitting in. As long as Clara was comfortable, he didn’t mind.

/

Clara did not often have nightmares. Her dreams were mostly simple and pleasant, ones she didn’t mind remembering when waking. Privately, she wondered if the magic within her had some influence on her good fortune.

To her dismay, it was Eric who seemed to be plagued by more troubled dreams.

Fortunately, him having nightmares was not a common occurrence. But if prompted by certain events or memories, they could come back with a particular harshness. The confrontation with Theda was no exception, to Eric’s annoyance.

It was late into the night, nearly a week after the events in Theda’s cave. Eric tossed and turned, discontent mumblings leaking from his mouth as he drifted through tangled dreams. His movements eventually drew Clara from her slumber, and she turned towards her husband. She placed a hand on his shoulder, concern knitting her brow as she gently shook him.

“Eric. Eric, love…”

Eric’s movements slowed, and he turned towards Clara’s touch. His eyes fluttered open, hazy with sleep and shadowed with fading dreams. “Clara?” he breathed.

She sighed sympathetically, stroking his neck. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“No.” The word weighed heavily on his tongue. Guilt seeped into Eric’s expression. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Clara rubbed her thumb across his cheek. “I don’t mind.” She moved closer so that she lay partially on his chest, with her head tucked beneath his chin. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone as he embraced her. “I’ll stay up all night if you need me to,” she whispered.

Eric let out a shaky breath, unable to form a reply. It was only after Clara felt him relax in sleep that she allowed herself to drift off as well.

 _I’ll protect you_. Her promise to him echoed vaguely in her mind. She may have murmured it out loud, but she wasn’t sure in the heavy drowsiness of the night.

The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the faint tightening of Eric’s arms around her.


	14. Uncertainties Part I

There it was. The Sugar Plum Princess’ palace.

Ivory walls and gold-trimmed balconies, with lilac and rose windows framing the grand entrance doors. It was a stunning vision, emphasized by the bordering peppermint trees and impossibly green hills.

Yet Clara felt no joy at the sight. An uncomfortable churning had taken hold of her stomach, and she grimaced as they walked up the road leading to the palace. Had she finally come to end of her journey? Was she to be returned home? She supposed she should feel happy by the prospect. Yet the emotion pooling within her was not something she could place as joy.

The Nutcracker paused, noticing Clara’s slowed pace. He glanced at the major and captain, but they continued to stride ahead, ignorant to their companions.

“Clara?” The Nutcracker approached her cautiously, frowning at her expression. “Are you alright?”

Clara bit her lip. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“What is it? I thought you would be happy. You’ll be home soon.”

Home. What an odd word to think of, when standing in a land embedded with magic, fairies, and wonderous things.

What made a home? Clara loved her grandfather dearly, but she wasn’t sure that his house had truly ever felt like a _home_ to her. Home had been where she had lived with her parents. Home had been that feeling of snuggling between her mother and father in their bed, listening as her mother read them fairy tales by candlelight. Home was the fervent embrace of her aunt’s arms.

She looked at the Nutcracker. Home was beginning to feel oddly similar to what she felt when she was with him.

“I…I’m just worried for you,” she said instead.

The Nutcracker glanced at the palace. “I appreciate that. But all I can do is ask the princess for her help. Perhaps she cannot break my curse, but…”

“Oh, it’s not that,” said Clara. “I mean…I’m sure she can.” The thought of seeing him in his true form sent a fluttering sensation through Clara. “But what about the Mouse King? It doesn’t feel right, my leaving while you still have such danger to face.”

The Nutcracker smiled. “I can handle him. Though it will be infinitely easier without this cumbersome body, which is why I’m glad to finally have found the princess.”

Clara pressed her lips together, unconvinced. “I think I should stay. At least for a little while more.”

“Do you _want_ to stay?” The question was softly spoken. His tone sounded earnest and…almost pleading.

Clara wondered if he was simply prying for an honest answer or…for something else. Something she found herself desperately wanting him to ask of her. She wasn’t sure she had the courage to initiate the idea of her staying permanently, but if _he_ asked it of her…

She twisted her hands, conflicted. “I want to help you. I don’t want you to face the Mouse King alone.” She debated how to continue, then waved her hand in frustration. “Surely there are people loyal to your father who can be recruited. Soldiers, or people who had worked in the castle. We can form _some_ kind of army, enough to take back the castle.”

He was touched by her concern, but not swayed. “I have no desire to put anymore of my father’s people in danger, Clara.”

“They’re _your_ people now.”

The Nutcracker sighed. “Regardless, I refuse to send them to their deaths.”

“So you’ll gladly go to _yours_ instead.” She was angry now, annoyed that he had allowed his guilt to fester into blind martyrdom.

“What happens to me doesn’t matter. All I want is to protect those I care about.” He was watching her with an intensity Clara found difficult to match gazes with.

She glanced away.

“I would rather have you home and safe,” he said.

“So that’s it, then?” she asked, her tone mournful as she looked back at him. “I am to return home while you go to your death, and we are never to see each other again.”

“I wish you had a bit more faith in my abilities,” he teased softly. “My death is not certain.”

But Clara didn’t laugh. She fought down the sorrow in her throat, unable to deny the fear spiking in her as he uttered the words _my death_.

The Nutcracker swept his arm out towards the palace. “So then, are you coming?”

Clara reached up, closing her hand around her locket. If she could linger for only a few more minutes, draw out her time here – with _him_ – for just a bit longer…

“I will,” she said. “But…I need a moment. Please.”

The Nutcracker nodded. He hesitated, then turned and began walking up the road to the palace entrance. Clara remained still, watching as he caught up to the captain and major.

 _What is home?_ The question bloomed in her mind once again as she fingered the locket.

If only the answer could be as easily found as the princess’ palace.

/

The Nutcracker paced the dungeon floor, worry burning in his mind for Clara. Was she still on the island? Would she be able to find a way off it, or was she doomed to be trapped there forever? Had the Mouse King gone back for her? If he had, where was she being kept? He felt sick thinking about the possibilities.

“Will you stop moving about so much?” snapped Major Mint. “Your feet are echoing something terrible against these dratted cell walls.”

“Sorry,” muttered the Nutcracker. He halted and turned towards the glass wall separating them from half of the cell. What purpose could the barrier possibly have? There were already guards outside. The extra reinforcement seemed ridiculous.

Maybe the Mouse King decided that they were large enough of a threat to warrant the added magical protection. The Nutcracker felt vaguely smug at that thought.

Captain Candy gave a sigh and kicked at the wall. His boot bounced off of it with a dull thud. “Never seen the dungeons so full,” he said gloomily.

The Nutcracker nodded, his expression grim. They had passed multiple cells while being led here, most of them being occupied by subjects that had offended the Mouse King in one way or another.

The captain placed his hand against the wall, staring at the locked cell door. “I wonder if he had kept Eric down here before…” He swallowed and looked at the Nutcracker. “You said the Mouse King had destroyed the prince. What exactly did you mean by that?”

The Nutcracker grimaced at the unexpected – and unwanted – question. “Does it matter? I would rather not have to retell it.”

Captain Candy frowned suspiciously. “I’ve never seen you here before. How did you even know the prince?”

The Nutcracker cringed. “I…I’d met him on a few occasions before all of this.”

“When?” demanded the captain. “He and I were close friends; he was not one to keep secrets from me. Meeting a wooden man is not something he would forget to tell.”

Avoiding the captain’s gaze, the Nutcracker glanced at the dungeon entrance. “I wasn’t always like this.”

The captain snorted. “Clearly. You don’t exactly blend in.”

A sigh escaped the Nutcracker. “Look, I –” He broke off, leaning forward. “Do you hear that?”

The captain and major moved closer to the wall, listening.

There were muffled voices talking. The guards, no doubt. And a third voice…lighter, definitely feminine.

“Clara…?” the Nutcracker murmured wondrously.

“Can’t be,” huffed the major. “The girl could not possibly –”

There was the sound of footsteps hurrying away. The lock to the cell released, and the door creaked open. There stood Clara, alone, looking nervous but steadfastly determined.

“Clara,” breathed the Nutcracker. _She’s alright_. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. He had no idea as to how Clara had gotten here, but he did not care. She was here – that was all that mattered.

Clara stepped cautiously into the room, glancing about in confusion. She made no sign that she could see them.

“What’s wrong with the girl?” Major Mint asked sharply.

The Nutcracker examined the wall. “We can see her,” he realized. “But she can’t see us.”

Candy gave the wall a hard rap with his knuckles. “Or hear us, apparently.”

Clara frowned. “Why would the Mouse King post guards on an empty room?” she mused, wandering further into the dimness.

“Clara…” The Nutcracker pressed his hands against the barrier, desperate to reach her.

Clara frowned, staring at the wall she did not know was there. Slowly, she walked forward, holding out her hand. Then her palm flattened against the invisible barrier – exactly mirroring the Nutcracker’s hand.

He smiled, watching as understanding dawned on her face. Her lips curved upwards as well, in triumph of her discovery. She turned away and hurried back to the cell entrance, where an unlit torch had been mounted on the wall. Clara grasped the torch and yanked it free, then hoisted it over her shoulder as she crossed the cell once again.

“Move back!” commanded the Nutcracker.

The three men covered their heads with their arms as Clara swung at the wall. There was the sound of shattering glass, and the Nutcracker raised his gaze to watch as thousands of magical shards cascaded to the floor. Then Clara was running forward, and the Nutcracker barely had time to straighten before she collided with him, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce embrace.

She let out a relieved gasp, and he heard his own breath leave in same rushed sound. He tightened his arms briefly around her, then allowed her to pull away.

She lifted her hands to his face, stroking her thumbs over his wooden features. He inhaled shakily at the faint feeling of the caress, and the longing for regular hands burned in him more fiercely than ever before.

“Are you alright?” she asked frantically. “What did he do to you? Did he hurt you?”

“No,” said the Nutcracker, unable to keep the affection out of his voice. “No, we’re fine. He didn’t do anything to us.”

Clara smiled, tears of relief pricking her eyes. Then fear filtered into them, and she griped his arm. “We’ve got to get out of here. The Mouse King is building a bonfire.”

The solace Clara’s presence had brought him quickly vanished. It seemed the Mouse King was eager to put an end to all of this.

“Quickly, you two!” urged the major. He and the captain were already at the cell door. The major gave a frantic wave, and then he and the captain hurried into the corridor.

The Nutcracker began to follow, but Clara tugged him to a stop. “Eric, wait.”

He frowned. “Clara –”

“I don’t care what you said before,” snapped Clara. She felt somewhat guilty for ignoring his wishes to not use his real name, but with danger so imminent it felt wrong to address him as though he were nothing more than a mere object. “If you face him now, it doesn’t matter how good you are with a sword, or how much help we give you. You could die. So before we go out there, I just…” She hesitated, the words tangling in her throat.

“You what, Clara?” There was an urgency to the question, an acknowledgement of how short on time they were. But there was an underlining anticipation as well, as though he had been yearning for her to say these exact words.

Clara’s mouth opened, but still she was not sure what she was trying to say. She released a sigh. “Please be careful. Don’t do anything stupid or reckless.”

He smiled. It was a sad expression, yet there was a warmth in it meant solely for her. “If we’d been acquainted before all this, you’d know how pointless that request was.” He paused, studying her with a tormented look. He worked his jaw, as though building up his courage. Or holding back something he knew he shouldn’t ask. “Say it once more,” he whispered.

Clara’s brow creased. “Say what?”

“My name.”

She almost didn’t hear the words, they had been so softly spoken. Then she smiled. “Eric.” She said it wistfully, like how one may whisper secrets to a lover.

He let out a trembling breath, finally exhaling his hatred of the name she spoke with such adoration. Fresh determination seized him, and he gently pulled her towards the door. “Come on. Stay close to the major, and let me handle the Mouse.”

She squeezed his hand, hoping he felt the sensation in his cursed form. They rushed out of the dungeon, following the captain and major up the stairs and towards the courtyard.

/

Clara curled her fingers more tightly through his, reveling in the soft warmth of his flesh. He glanced at her and smiled, then refocused his attention on the celebration in the courtyard.

The Mouse King’s reign was over, and now the freed Parthenians were celebrating, dancing joyfully around the fountain that had been a bonfire meant for their prince less than an hour before. Clara and Eric stood off to the side, slightly obscured by the crowd as they watched.

Clara had been the one to take his hand. She had surprised herself by the action; before all of this she could never imagine herself being so forward with a man. But with Eric she felt bolder and more comfortable than she had with anyone before, even in his restored human form. She wanted to convey that message to him – that she saw him as the same person he had been under his curse. So she took his hand, hoping to reassure him.

He flinched when she did so, unused to the intimate contact. He had nearly forgotten how sensitive human skin was, and marveled at the sensations that tingled across his fingers entwined with Clara’s. He found himself feeling vaguely nervous around her, which was a ridiculous idea. What was he to be anxious of? She was no different than before. If one ignored her newfound royal status, of course, and the shimmering dress that somehow made her even more beautiful than ever.

He felt Clara wrap her free hand around his arm, and he looked down at her.

“Are you alright?” she said quietly, mindful of the people standing near them.

He smiled. “Yes. I’m just…taking it all in.”

Clara gave his arm a squeeze. “But you feel fine?” She pressed. “Your injuries…”

Eric gave a soft laugh. “Whatever you did, it was quite thorough. I promise, I’m alright.” He hesitated, studying Clara’s face. Her enchanting sky-blue eyes, the worried downward curve of her lips…lips that he suddenly very much wanted to kiss…

He blinked and returned his gaze to the dancing, pushing the idea from his head. He had no right to contemplate such a thing, not if Clara was planning on returning to her home. The thought sobered him, and for a selfish moment he had wished Clara wasn’t the Sugar Plum Princess, if it meant she could stay.

Standing before the fountain, the major and captain bowed before a roaring applause, having just finished one of Parthenia’s traditional dances. As the cheering began to fade, they strutted back into the crowd, both looking rather pleased with themselves.

Eric turned to Clara, struck with a sudden desire. “Do you want to dance?” he asked.

Clara looked surprised at the suggestion. “You mean just the two of us? In front of everyone?”

Eric nodded enthusiastically.

Clara’s cheeks reddened. “No, no, I couldn’t,” she stammered. “You’ve seen my dancing. It’s mediocre at best. And with all these people…”

“If the Sugar Plum Princess can turn a nutcracker into a man, I have no doubt she can dance too,” said Eric. He gestured to her dress. “Perhaps you just needed a reminder of your talents.”

Clara clutched Eric’s arm. “Are you sure?” But she sounded less nervous.

Eric smiled, and Clara felt the tension ebb from her body at his expression.

She sucked in a deep breath. “Alright.” She released Eric, and he held out his hand in a more formal manner. She lightly placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her into the courtyard.

Amazingly, as she walked beside him, her anxiety dissipated. A new confidence she had never felt before possessed her. She stepped away from Eric to move into position, and found herself eagerly awaiting for the music to begin.

And they danced.


	15. Uncertainties Part II

Eric rubbed his thumb over the cool surface of Clara’s locket. He tilted it, watching the candlelight reflect off the golden heart. Emitting a low sigh, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the chair he was sitting in. Nearly four weeks had passed since he had become king, and he still felt uncertain in the role. With Clara gone, his insecurities about ruling Parthenia had come surging back. She had been the only one to believe in him when no one else had; without her, he felt rather lost.

It took all of his willpower not to go chasing after her. But he had a duty to his people, one he was not planning on neglecting a second time. He ran the locket’s chain through his fingers. Yet no sense of duty could replace the aching in his chest.

The door to the study creaked open, and Captain Candy peered inside cautiously. “Eric?”

Eric opened his eyes tiredly. “Yes? What is it?”

The captain stepped into the room and closed the door. “It’s late. Why are you still awake?”

“Why are you?” countered Eric, turning the locket over his in hand.

“Because it’s my duty to look out for my king’s interests. Which includes ensuring he doesn’t fall ill due to lack of sleep.”

Eric made a noise of disgust. “Don’t call me king. Not you.”

Candy shrugged. “Formalities.” He raised an eyebrow at Eric’s boots, which were propped up on the desk Eric was sitting behind. “Not that you are exactly emitting a kingly dignity at the moment.”

Eric threw his friend a dirty look. He kept his feet where they were, though he kicked at a quill that had settled against his boot. The quill rolled away, dropping off the edge of the desk and landing on the study’s floor with a soft clatter.

Candy’s gaze fell on the locket Eric was holding. “We’ll find her,” he said gently.

Eric nodded. He pressed on the locket’s latch, and it popped open. There was nothing inside, but hope flickered briefly in Eric’s eyes, as though the magic would work once more and transport him to wherever Clara was.

Candy shook his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t confide in me.”

Eric snapped the locket shut and looked up. “About what?”

Candy gave him an exasperated look. “About everything. When you were…cursed.” The last word was said weakly, and the captain watched Eric’s face nervously. They did not often talk about Eric’s curse.

But Eric didn’t look bothered. He shrugged. “I suppose I didn’t for multiple reasons. Guilt. Embarrassment. A desire to not pull you into it.”

Candy snorted. “I was already a part of it.”

“Maybe I didn’t trust your ability to keep secrets,” smirked Eric.

“Hilarious,” grumbled Candy. He gestured to the locket. “But you told Clara. When you barely knew her.”

Eric laughed. “I didn’t tell her anything. She figured it out.”

“Well…” Candy looked flustered, embarrassed that he hadn’t been able to deduce Eric’s identity when a stranger could. “She _does_ possess magic. Maybe it helped her realize who you were.”

“Or maybe she’s just smarter than you,” joked Eric.

Candy’s face scrunched up into an offended expression.

Eric smiled. “It’s alright that you didn’t know, my friend. I preferred it that way. Besides, it all worked out in the end.” He sobered, closing his hand around the locket. “For the most part.”

Candy grimaced sympathetically.

Eric swung his feet down to the floor and stood. Slipping the locket into his pocket, he walked around the desk and patted Candy’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

Eric shrugged, not bothering to specify. He made his way to the study’s door. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he was gone, leaving the captain standing in a rather disheveled-looking study.

/

The brightness of Christmas Day had softened into a peaceful evening. Snow was falling gently outside, settling onto the window sills and framing the glass panes in white curves.

Eric had stayed for Christmas supper, as suggested by Elizabeth Drosselmeyer. Clara’s grandfather watched him carefully during the meal, trying his best to find further objections to the strange boy who had appeared on his house’s steps as though by magic. But Eric, whom Elizabeth seemed oddly close to, was as polite and well-mannered as could be expected. The only fault the boy seemed to have was his lack of propriety when it came to Clara.

The two of them seemed strangely comfortable around each other, though Clara’s grandfather was certain Clara had never met the boy before. He had made sure to place Clara and Eric on opposite sides of the table for supper, though that did little to hinder the small looks he caught them giving each other. Yet none of it was enough for him to vocally object, so he quietly scrutinized them, unable – and unwilling – to dull the protectiveness burning in him for his granddaughter.

He tried interrogating Eric to the best of his ability, demanding to know where he was from, what he was doing in town, and how he knew Elizabeth. The boy answered adequately, until Clara finally asked her grandfather to leave their guest in peace. But Eric didn’t seem troubled, in fact, he looked vaguely amused. Clara’s grandfather wasn’t sure how to respond to such a reaction.

Eric began a new, more agreeable, conversation with her grandfather. And by the end of the meal, Clara’s grandfather found, to his surprise, that he was rather enjoying it. Not that entertaining conversation could erase the inappropriate manner in which the boy had kissed his granddaughter’s hand earlier, of course. Yet he found himself feeling less averse to Eric than he originally had that morning.

As the dishes were cleared away by the servants, Elizabeth suggested that they all retire to the parlor. Clara nodded eagerly, stepping closer to Eric. Her grandfather was reluctant, but it was hardly late enough to insist that they go to bed, so he was forced to agree.

Tommy settled onto the rug in front of the parlor’s fireplace, playing with his new toys. Clara and Elizabeth sat on the sofa, while Eric occupied a chair placed near Clara’s side. Her grandfather took his usual seat in an overstuffed armchair near the fireplace, not interested in joining in any more conversation. Instead, he occupied himself with reading the paper from yesterday morning.

Elizabeth, Clara, and Eric bowed their heads towards each other as though confiding in some great secret. They chatted softly, their voices mingling with the crackling of the fire. Casting at glance at Clara’s grandfather to be sure that he wasn’t paying attention, Eric reached out and grasped Clara’s hand, prompting a smile from her.

The glint of firelight on glass caught Eric’s eye, and his gaze fell on a small side table, upon which sat a familiar snow globe. He stared at it in surprise. Realization dipped his mouth into an amused slant, and he glanced at Elizabeth.

Noticing Eric’s distraction, Clara looked at the snow globe. “Oh. Isn’t it lovely? It was a birthday present from Aunt Elizabeth years ago.”

“You have good taste,” Eric said smugly to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth winked. “Thank you.”

Clara’s grandfather shifted in his chair, and Clara hastily withdrew her hand from Eric’s. Her grandfather pulled out his pocket watch to check it, then let out a grunt. “It’s getting late,” he said. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to face them. “We should all be going to bed.”

Disappointment seeped into Clara and Eric’s eyes.

“Surely it is not that late,” insisted Elizabeth.

“It is indeed,” said Clara’s grandfather. “And I will not be responsible for Clara or Tommy acquiring poor sleeping habits.” He waved impatiently at Tommy. “Go on, lad.”

Tommy sighed, but he obediently began to gather up his toys.

 Eric stood and helped Clara to her feet. “I suppose I should be going,” he said regretfully.

Sorrow swept across Clara’s face.

“I shall escort Eric to the door,” said Elizabeth.

Eric turned to Clara’s grandfather. “Thank you for having me,” he said, holding out his hand.

Clara’s grandfather shook the offered hand and nodded. “Yes, well, I’m glad to know that some of Elizabeth’s acquaintances are halfway decent.”

“ _Uncle_ ,” chided Elizabeth.

But Eric just grinned. He gave Clara’s grandfather a nod, then followed Elizabeth out of the parlor and into the entrance hall, Clara close behind.

“Are you going back to Parthenia?” Clara whispered, once they were out of earshot of her grandfather.

Eric looked reluctant to answer. “I suppose.”

“ _Tonight_? But it’s so late.” Clara looked at her aunt pleadingly. “Can’t he stay, Aunt Elizabeth? For one night? Surely the maids can prepare the second guest room.”

“You know your grandfather would never agree to such a request, Clara.” Elizabeth patted Eric’s arm affectionately. “You _do_ know how to travel back through the passage, yes?”

Eric gave Elizabeth an exasperated look.

“I’m only being cautious,” Elizabeth said with a laugh. “You aren’t exactly as experienced in world traveling as your father was.” She eyed Eric’s clothes. “Though you’ll probably freeze to death before making it to Mulberry Park.” She ushered Eric over to a small closet near the door. Opening it, she rummaged through the hanging clothes until finally pulling out a dark grey winter coat.

“Who’s is that?” asked Clara in confusion. “It’s not grandfather’s.”

Elizabeth looked rather coy as she answered. “It’s Eric’s now.” She shoved it into his hands.

Eric eyed the coat curiously. He studied Elizabeth as he slipped it on, wondering how much he _truly_ knew about her. After all, if Clara possessed magic, who’s to say that her aunt didn’t have similar talents? What kind of blood ran through the Drosselmeyer family, anyway?

Elizabeth nodded to the coat’s pockets. “Don’t forget the gloves.”

Eric dipped his hands inside the pockets and found a set of leather gloves. They fit perfectly, as did the coat. “Thank you,” he said.

Elizabeth placed her palm against the side of his face, smiling. “Your father would be proud of you.”

Eric’s throat tightened at the words. He gave Elizabeth a look of the utmost gratitude, then turned to Clara. “I’ll return soon. I promise.”

Clara took his hands in hers. “I know.”

Eric glanced up the hallway, but Clara’s grandfather was nowhere in sight. He pressed a kiss to Clara’s cheek and gave her hands a quick squeeze. Nodding at both ladies, he opened the door and slipped out into the night.

Clara’s shoulders drooped as the door snapped shut. He was gone. Again. After everything, after he came for her, he was gone.

“He’ll be back, dear,” Elizabeth said softly.

Clara nodded, though she didn’t raise her gaze to her aunt. She turned away and quietly walked to the staircase in the entrance hall, trying to ignore the empty bleakness swarming within her.

Alone in her room upstairs, she undressed and put on a rose-colored nightgown. It was not the same one she had worn the night before, but the similar color scheme comforted her, reminding her of Parthenia.

Of him.

She sighed, pulling out the pins that had held her hair up. How long until she was to see him again? He hadn’t exactly been specific about that. She wandered over to her bedroom window and pulled back the curtains.

The night sky spread out above her, mostly covered in clouds that continued to send gentle waves of snow down onto the streets. Moonlight broke through where it could, spilling onto the snow-covered cobblestones. It was fairly still outside, save for a horse-drawn carriage lazily rolling down the far side of the street.

And a single figure pacing on the sidewalk below.

Clara frowned, squinting into the darkness to get a better look. Then her eyes widened, and she hastily unlocked her window. She pushed it open, shivering as the winter chill brushed against her. She leaned outside, hope flaring within her.

“Eric?” She tried to keep her voice low, but she could not help her excited tone.

The figure paused and looked up at her. A bright smile spread across his face.

“What are you still doing here?”

“I…” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I couldn’t leave. Not yet.”

Clara propped her arms on the window sill, looking down at him in amusement. “Are you planning on spending the night on the street?”

Eric smirked. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet.” He eyed the wooden trellis covering the wall outside of Clara’s window. Empty of the vines that usually grew over it during the summer, it looked rather bare with nothing but snow to blanket the intersecting wood. A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes, and he strode forward, reaching for the structure.

“Wait,” said Clara nervously. “Will that hold you…?” She trailed off, watching anxiously as Eric climbed up the trellis towards her window. The wooden planks trembled slightly beneath his weight, but they held, and he climbed on.

Eric grabbed the sill, and Clara grasped his coat sleeve. Together, they heaved him into her bedroom. He tumbled to the floor with a thud, and Clara caught him against her with a grunt. They stilled, listening anxiously. Moments passed, but not one came to investigate the sound.

“Are you mad?” Clara hissed. “Who knows what Grandfather will do to you if he finds you here.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure he doesn’t find me,” said Eric. He sat up and smiled, placing his hands on either side of Clara’s neck to pull her into a kiss.

Despite her fear of them being discovered, Clara found herself sinking into his touch. She placed her hands on his cheeks, rubbing warmth back into them as he kissed her. Her heart raced as he clutched her to him; this was beyond inappropriate – it was utterly scandalous. If _anyone_ , not just her grandfather, found them like this in her bedroom, with her wearing nothing but a _nightgown_ …

She should send him back outside immediately. He probably didn’t have money that would work here, but surely Elizabeth could lend him some for a hotel…

Then he did something with his lips that sent a shuddering sensation through her, and Clara’s thoughts melted into nothing beyond the feeling of his mouth on hers.

He was here. He was _here_ , with her. The thought coursed through her violently, like oxygen soaring into lungs that had been deprived of it for too long. She raised her hands to his hair, running her fingers through the snow-dusted dark strands. Loosened snowflakes drifted onto his coat, where they quickly melted in the heat of the room. She smiled, sighing blissfully as he pulled away.

His eyes brimmed with the deepest relief as he gazed at her, soaking up every detail of her features.

“Eric, you look like you haven’t seen me in months,” Clara teased, her voice breathless from the kiss.

Eric cringed. “Not months, thankfully. But five weeks was terrible enough.”

Clara stared in shock. “Five _weeks_?” She gaped at him. “But I was in Parthenia yesterday!”

Eric smiled bitterly. “The unfortunate side effects of world traveling, I’m afraid.”

Panic seized Clara. “You _can’t_ leave, then. Who knows how much time will pass before we see each other again?” She shook her head frantically. “No. No, you must stay. Or take me with you. _Please_.”

“And what? Leave a note for your family, telling them you’ve run away?” Eric shook his head. “You would regret such an action, Clara. Maybe not immediately, but soon enough.”

Clara pressed her lips together unhappily. “I know.” She took Eric’s hands and drew them into her lap. “Then what are we to do?”

“I think my father’s scepter can help. I haven’t been able to test it out much, but I’m fairly certain my father used it to lessen the time-changing effect when he traveled.”

Clara tugged Eric’s gloves off and tossed them aside. She closed her hands around his once again, without the barrier of fabric between them. “You don’t sound too sure about it.”

Eric quirked an eyebrow, smiling. “Alright, I’m _sure_ it’ll work. You trust me, don’t you?”

Clara’s mouth curved upwards. “Yes.” She trailed her fingers across his palm, her tone growing serious. “Well, since it’s been so long since I’ve been there now…how _are_ things in Parthenia?”

“Well as can be. We’ve been trying to repair the Mouse King’s damage, but it’s a slow process. There always seem to be more to do.”

Clara traced the skin near his thumb, and his fingers twitched. A soft laugh escaped her. “Sensitive there?”

Eric tried to hold back a grin. “No.”

“Liar,” smiled Clara. She sobered as she studied him. “I know it can’t be easy, not when the kingdom has so much to recover from. I’m sure you’re doing the best you can.”

“What if my best isn’t enough?”

“It is,” said Clara sincerely. “I know it is.”

Eric curled his fingers over Clara’s hand.

Muffled footsteps passed along the hallway outside of Clara’s door. Eric and Clara froze, apprehension on their faces as they listened. The footsteps faded, and Clara let out a relieved breath.

Eric looked back at Clara with a pained expression. “I can’t stay,” he whispered. “But I had to see you once more, privately, before leaving.” He glanced about them warily. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t proper in the least.”

“Don’t be. I needed to see you too – without Grandfather looming over us.”

Eric gave her a smile. Then he drew away and snatched up his gloves, tugging them on as he stood. He helped Clara stand, and together they went back to the open window.

Gripping the edge of the sill, Eric swung out onto the trellis. He paused, hands wrapped around the crisscrossing wood as he looked up at her. “I’ll come back soon. I _promise_.”

She bent down to give him a brief kiss. “Then I go with you,” she said, her tone leaving with no room for argument.

He laughed softly. “Yes, then you come with me.”

Clara’s hands tightened on the window edge as she watched Eric climb down the wall. He landed lightly on the sidewalk and crossed the empty street, his figure illuminated by a nearby lamppost. Once across the street, he paused and turned back to catch a final glimpse of her.

She waved, and he returned the gesture. Then, he was gone, disappearing into the darkness.

/

It was late morning. Clara wandered through Mulberry Park, watching wistfully as other couples strolled along the snowy paths ahead of her. Children ran about wildly, hurling snowballs at each other and shouting excitedly. A dog barked playfully at his master, who was tossing a stick into the air.

Elizabeth’s stay at the Drosselmeyer house was coming to an end soon; she was to leave at the end of the week. This morning she was visiting friends, leaving Clara alone with her grandfather and brother. In an effort to escape the stifling atmosphere of the house, Clara had decided to take a walk through Mulberry Park.

She reached beneath her scarf, clutching her locket. She never took it off, finding its presence a comfort. Clara usually prided herself on her aptitude for patience, but now, it was becoming rather difficult to wait. If she and Eric could exchange letters, that may help the distance somewhat. But how could one send letters across worlds?

She sighed, withdrawing her hand from the locket. She was being ridiculous. He was a _king_ now, he couldn’t run off to see her whenever he wanted. Besides, it had only been a fortnight since he had returned to Parthenia. Hardly something worth despairing over. Shaking her head, she raised her gaze to the pathway in front of her.

Someone was approaching her. He was too far away for her to make out his face properly, but she couldn’t help but notice the similarities of the grey coat he wore to the one Elizabeth had given Eric. Hope sparked in her, and she quickened her pace. She only needed to go a few paces before she was able to discern his features. He was smiling.

She gave a shaky laugh, and then sprinted towards him. Eric broke into a run as well, rushing forward to catch her. Clara clung to him, kissing frantically along his jaw, across his cheek, and over his lips. Eric laughed, kissing her when he could, but mostly allowing her to do what she pleased.

“You came,” Clara said breathlessly between kisses. “ _You came._ ”

“Of course I did,” whispered Eric, grinning. He pulled away slightly and dug into his coat pocket, drawing out a ring. The golden band of the ring was made up of three interweaving thinner bands. Embedded into its top was a shimmering gemstone Clara had never seen before. In fact, she doubted it was something that could even be found in her world. It looked like a diamond, but when moved about, it reflected various hues in the sunlight that would be impossible for a regular gemstone to create. It radiated a special aura one could sense just by looking at it – something distinctly magical.

“Eric, it’s _beautiful_ ,” she breathed.

His touch gentle, Eric took her hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. “I should have brought it the first time. It would have been a proper proposal then.”

Clara smiled. “No, it was perfect before.”

Eric pressed a kiss to her adorned ring finger, then looped her arm through his. “Shall we go to your house? I have a question to ask your grandfather."

Clara nodded excitedly. Bright joy lit up her features, and she gave Eric an eager yank down the pathway. He stumbled after her, his laughter ringing alongside hers as they hurried through the snow.


	16. Faceless Memories

“Why aren’t you dancing?”

Eric looked up. Approaching the steps leading to the dais Eric was sitting on was the Parthenian army’s new First Lieutenant. He was dressed in formal military attire, and had a midnight blue turban wrapped around his head.

“Should I be?” asked Eric mildly. He was sitting in the chair placed next to the king’s; his was shorter, but equally rich in its golden frame and silk cushions. From the raised seat, he was able to see the majority of the Parthenian castle’s ballroom, which was filled with hundreds of guests drinking and dancing. Though Eric was currently not dancing, in his hand was a half-empty wineglass containing a liquid he hadn’t bothered to ask the name of.

Candy raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it expected for the prince to participate all of the traditional dances?”

“Sounds exhausting.” Eric tipped his glass back, watching the red liquid slosh dangerously close to the brim. “Besides, I just danced with Lady Cordelia.”

“Yes. Two dances ago.”

“Well, I suppose I needed the time to recover.”

“I thought you liked her.”

Eric snorted. “She chatters. Excessively.”

“So do you, at times.”

Eric glared at his friend. “Yes, but she doesn’t talk about _interesting_ things. Mostly she jabbers on about herself. And the latest gossip plaguing Parthenia’s nobility.”

“Surely there was _something_ worth listening to in that,” joked Candy.

Eric’s lips slanted into a smile. “She tried asking if that story going around about me is true.”

“The one about the cows?” Candy laughed. “What did you tell her?”

“That of course it wasn’t true. Cordelia is the last person I would admit anything like that to. Her tongue is faster than fire; it would undoubtedly reach Father in no time.”

“He’s already heard about it.”

“Yes, but he hasn’t heard me _admit_ to it.” Eric tipped his glass in Candy’s direction. “And lucky for you, your name hasn’t come up at all. It seems I’m the sole suspect.”

“How unfortunate for _you_ , then,” smirked Candy.

Eric grinned. He gestured to Candy’s uniform. “Nice outfit.”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations, _Lieutenant._ ”

“ _First_ Lieutenant,” corrected Candy. He straightened proudly and gave Eric a rather haughty look. “And soon enough it’ll be Captain.”

“I’ll be sure to warn Kubát you’re after his job.”

“Please do. He has far too big of an opinion of himself; he needs the competition.” Candy looked behind him at the couples spinning throughout the ballroom. “Are you sure you shouldn’t be dancing? People will think you’re being unsociable.”

“Perfect. Let them mingle that opinion in with the cow story.” Eric nodded at a specific couple near the center of the dance floor. “Besides, as long as there’s _one_ royal out there, I don’t see the problem.”

Candy’s gaze followed Eric’s, until he finally spotted the indicated pair. The king of Parthenia, looking very much the noble monarch with a crown resting on his silvering dark hair, expertly led his partner over the floor. He smiled down at her, rarely glancing at the other couples they twirled around.

Somehow, in spite of all of the colorful women attending the ball, Lady Elizabeth Drosselmeyer managed to stand out above them all. She wore a deep scarlet gown that exquisitely complemented the rustic tint of her brown hair, which was accented with pearled pins. A marching necklace and bracelet encircled her throat and wrist, but otherwise she was naked of extra jewelry. She may have looked plainly dressed in comparison to the other richly adorned women, yet there was something about her that made everyone watch as she passed them. Even the king seemed captivated by the attention she effortlessly demanded, unable to part with her hours into the ball.

Candy mentioned something about looking for a dance partner of his own and wandered off. Eric gave him a half-hearted wave, still focused on his father and Lady Elizabeth. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his father’s affections for Lady Elizabeth. Eric enjoyed talking with her and spending time with her – _immensely_. If he was being completely honest with himself, he was sure that his feelings for her had developed into something very close to the love he had felt for his mother. Perhaps it was because of that that he had some doubts about his father’s attention to her. The king and Lady Elizabeth were dear friends, and had been for years. But if that relationship changed...

He supposed part of him would be thrilled to have her for a stepmother. But even that simple thought made him feel as though he was betraying his own mother, disrespecting her memory. How could he possibly replace her?

He frowned, rotating the glass in his hand. He knew he was worrying about something that had no bearing yet. His father had made no indication of wanting to deepen his relationship with Lady Elizabeth into something romantic. And neither had she. Yet that certainly did not stop the rumors about them from spreading across the kingdom. Some of them had been fairly enthusiastic about the idea of the king and lady marrying. Others had been less...polite. Regardless, Eric had yet to decide what his feelings on the entire matter were.

Eric straightened. The dance had ended, and he saw his father leading Lady Elizabeth towards the dais. He pushed thoughts of marriage and potential stepmothers from his mind and flashed Lady Elizabeth a smile as she ascended the steps to him.

“Eric, dear, why are you not dancing?” she asked.

Eric gave a good-natured shrug. “Stepped on too many ladies’ feet. They all refuse to be my partner now.”

Elizabeth shook her head in amusement. “What have I told you about princes and lying? I know for a fact that you’re an excellent dancer.”

“You cannot spend the entirety of the ball in that chair, Eric,” his father said firmly. “You are sixteen – you are no longer a child who can sneak off when the ball dulls.”

“Dulls? So you agree with me – they do get boring after a few hours.”

The king frowned at his son. “You’re being rude by not dancing with the numerous ladies lacking a partner.”

Eric glanced at the opposite wall of the ballroom. About a dozen or so young girls were standing along it, eyeing potential dance partners. More than a few were watching him.

Eric grimaced and allowed his attention to drift elsewhere. He caught sight of a lone figure standing beside one of the ballroom’s pillars and smirked. “But I would hate to steal any potential partners away from Lord Mauscher. He looks so enraptured by it all.”

The king and Elizabeth turned to see where Eric’s gaze was focused. Isolated in the far corner of the ballroom was Lord Mauscher. He was wearing the appropriate formal clothes, though they were dreary in their dark color scheme. An annoyed frown lined his face as he watched the dancing, as though he would rather endure the worst sort of torture than be forced to remain in the ballroom.

Despite himself, the king could not help the upwards twitch of his lips. “He does look miserable, doesn’t he?”

“Quite horrible of you, to make him attend,” grinned Eric.

The king let out a chuckle and looked back at his son. “It’s expected of him. He knows it.”

“Well, don’t be surprised if he tries to convince you to change protocol on that tomorrow.” Eric brought his wineglass to his lips and drained the liquid, then stood, handing the glass to a nearby attendant. “Very well, Father – I shall dance.” He held out his hand to Elizabeth. “May I, my lady?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Of course, Your Highness.” She pulled her arm free of the king’s and took Eric’s offered hand. She winked at the king. “So like his father.”

The king looked slightly flustered at that. He opened his mouth to comment, but seemed unable to form a proper reply as Eric led Elizabeth down the stairs. The two were then swept away by the mass of dancing couples, leaving the king standing between the empty chairs meant for him and Eric.

Two dances later, the couples on the dance floor were urged to step to the sides of the ballroom, to make way for the Royal Parthenian Dance Troupe. Eric tugged his hand – perhaps a bit too forcibly – out of the clinging grip of a younger noble girl he had been dancing with, and hurried back to the dais, where his father was already seated.

“Do I sense an attraction?” the king asked sarcastically, keeping his voice low enough so that only his son could hear.

“She _thirteen_ ,” snapped Eric. “And acts as if she’s ten. Is she even old enough to be here?”

His father simply chuckled.

The orchestra began a new, dreamily majestic song. The doors to the ballroom opened, and a flurry of ballerinas in pale yellow gowns gracefully twirled into the center of the room. As they danced, Eric spared at a glance at Lady Elizabeth. She was sitting off to the side of the dais, with other noble ladies of similar social ranking. Sensing Eric’s gaze, she looked over at him and gave him a wink. Eric shook his head, smiling, and returned his focus to the dance.

As he looked between her and the ballerinas, a years-old memory of a conversation between him and Lady Elizabeth flickered in his mind. Of a girl who had loved ballet, but ceased to go after her mother’s death. A motherless girl, like him. A girl that Eric had helped construct a snow globe for.

Eric fiddled with the tassels on the royal sash tied over his chest, not truly watching the dancers anymore as he pondered the girl who now possessed his gift. He wondered if she had gone back to the ballet since Lady Elizabeth had delivered the snow globe to her. He wondered if she thought about her mother like he did about his, deep in the night when sleep could not ease the most restless of minds.

He wondered what her name was.

/

“You look tired, Eric.”

As though prompted by the observation, Eric let out a loud yawn. He turned towards the voice, blinking wearily. Elizabeth was standing behind him, eyebrows raised in amusement as she studied him. Not a single hair out of place, she was brightly alert, as if she had had a full night’s sleep. Which Eric knew was impossible, as the ball had gone on far past midnight. It was morning now, and – as far as Eric was concerned – much too early to be awake.

He glanced down at his clothes. His breeches were stuffed lazily into his boots, and the shirt he was wearing was the now-wrinkled undershirt to the formal jacket he had worn to the ball last night. Too tired to change into a nightshirt, he had fallen asleep on the sofa in his bedroom wearing half of his formal clothes. As he was simply going to breakfast at the moment, he hadn’t bothered to change.

“And you look as perfect as ever, Lady Elizabeth,” said Eric sleepily.

Elizabeth smiled, humor twinkling in her eyes. “Thank you, dear.” She raised her hand to her mouth, as though holding back a laugh. “Though I fear what your father will think, seeing you in such a state.”

Eric shrugged and ran a hand through his hair, partially smoothing out its messiness. Then he pulled his hand free and snapped his fingers, as though remembering something. “I have something for you.”

“Do you?” said Elizabeth curiously.

“Well, for you to deliver.”

“I did not realize I had taken up the position of a postman.”

Eric grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just... _you_ are the only one that is able to.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth titled her head. “How do you mean?” Then she nodded in understanding. “ _Ah._ You have a gift to send to _my_ world.” She frowned. “But you’ve never been there. Who could you possibly be sending it to?”

Eric hesitated. The idea felt foolish now in the bright certainty of the day, in comparison to the muggy dreams of the night. “Who is she?”

“Who?”

“The girl.” Eric waved his hand, as though urging himself to continue. “The one you had given the snow globe to.”

An oddly smug smile trailed over Elizabeth’s lips. “You have not mentioned her in years. I thought you had forgotten about her.”

“I suppose I did, for the most part,” admitted Eric. “But last night, during the ballet dance, and with you being there...it sort of all fell back into place.”

“Hm.” Elizabeth watched Eric with an expression he couldn’t quite read. She was quiet for a moment. “She’s my niece,” she finally answered.

“Your niece,” repeated Eric. He supposed that made sense, since Elizabeth had put so much care into the birthday gift. “Well, if she’s family, why hasn’t she visited Parthenia before? Your family is always welcome here.”

“I know. But I’m afraid her guardian simply would not allow such a trip.”

“Then let me go with _you_ ,” implored Eric. “I’ve been wanting to travel to your world for _years_. Father hasn’t let me go yet, but perhaps he’ll allow it if you take me. Then I can just give it to her myself.”

“Why is she suddenly so important to you? This gift? After all this time?”

The question took Eric aback. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how to answer Elizabeth. He hadn’t thought about the girl in such a long time. But now that the memory of the faceless girl had been pulled free, he could not stop thinking about her. He supposed this sudden connection he felt to her was from their shared loss of their mothers. With no siblings of his own, he had no one to shoulder that pain with. This girl though, she understood it. Perhaps that similarity was the reason he suddenly longed to meet her.

Or perhaps it was something else. Something he felt in his very bones, about the kind of person the niece of Elizabeth Drosselmeyer could be. The possibilities filled him with a dizzying eagerness to know.

“I don’t know,” Eric said honestly. “I just...it just is.”

Elizabeth’s smile softened. “What do you want to give her?”

Eric gestured for Elizabeth to follow. She did, allowing him to lead her to the corridor his bedroom was in. Elizabeth waited outside of Eric’s room as he went in, and a few moments later he returned, clutching something under his arm. He held it out, and Elizabeth took it with interest.

It was a book. Bound in dark mulberry leather, it looked rather thick, yet felt surprisingly light in one’s hands. Across the front of the cover the title _Parthenian Folk Tales_ was stitched in gold thread.

“It’s not a fairy tale book, but the stories are similar in theme.” A mischievous glint flashed in Eric’s eyes. “She can hide it with her other contraband books.”

Elizabeth stroked her fingers over the embroidered letters. “It’s beautiful, Eric,” she said. “But isn’t this _your_ copy? I recall reading to you from this very book when you were younger.”

Eric shrugged. “I know the stories by heart. Besides, I can always get another one.”

Elizabeth nodded in agreement to the logic. “That’s true.” She looked up at Eric. “This is quite a gift for a girl you don’t even know.”

“It’s not a _gift_ ,” said Eric hastily, a slight redness tinging his cheeks. “It’s...passing on an old book to someone who may not have read it yet.”

“Of course,” chuckled Elizabeth. “Regardless, I promise to deliver it safely.”

“Thank you. But make it seem as though it’s from you,” Eric added. “After all, she doesn’t even know who I am.”

“That’s fair,” said Elizabeth.

Eric was quiet. Then he spoke again, his question rushed as the words tumbled from him. “What’s her name?”

Elizabeth tapped her fingers against the book’s spine. There was a stretch of silence as she considered him. “Clara. Her name is Clara.”

“Clara.” The name rolled smoothly off his tongue. It felt right on his lips, a word that the chords in his throat could easily hum out.

Elizabeth adjusted the book against her hip. “Perhaps you shall meet her one day.”

The thought sent a surprising thrill through him.

“I’ll put this in my room before going to breakfast,” Elizabeth said. She eyed his clothes. “Why don’t you at least change your shirt, and then meet me in the dining hall?”

Eric laughed. “Very well.”

Elizabeth turned around and began making her way up the corridor, humming a tune Eric vaguely recognized. It wasn’t until he was changing in his room that he realized it was the song that had been put into the snow globe’s music box.

The song echoed in his thoughts for the remainder of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes: Eric now addresses Elizabeth as “Lady Elizabeth” instead of the title “Lady Drosselmeyer” he used as a ten-year-old. Basically just to show how he’s grown even closer to her, and she insists on him using less formal terms for her. His father still insists that Eric address her as “Lady” though. And as for the folk tales. Yes, it specifically says “Parthenia” on it, even though Clara doesn’t know such a place exists. Elizabeth will just have to make up some excuse about it being a made-up fairy tale land for the book.


	17. Grief Part I

“Eric?”

Eric cast an apathetic glance towards the sound of his name. He was sitting in the bay window of his bedchamber, his head wearily leaning against the glass panes. His arms were draped over his bent knees, giving his posture a melancholy appearance that mirrored the gray overcast sky outside.

Elizabeth thought he looked absolutely miserable. He was pale, but Elizabeth hoped the pallid tone of his skin was merely due to the dreary lighting brought on by the weather. There were dark circles beneath his normally vibrant eyes, evidence of his lack of sleep.

He had not taken his father’s death well. Elizabeth supposed she shouldn’t have expected him to, not after hearing how poorly he had handled his mother’s passing as a boy. Nevertheless, seeing him like this was difficult.

She grimaced. “Eric, dear, you cannot stay in here forever.”

Eric’s gaze lingered on Elizabeth a moment longer. He turned back to the window, staring out at the mountains beyond the castle grounds.

Elizabeth crossed the room slowly. She hesitated, then carefully settled herself onto the edge of the seat built into the bay window. The fabric of her dress pooled out onto the cushions, brushing Eric’s boots. She frowned at the gloomy shade of her skirt. She had never liked wearing black. Even now, with the entire castle in mourning, she despised doing so. Why emphasize the already suffocating depression seeping out of every crevice of the place? She eyed the dark color of Eric’s clothes with a sinking heart. Black was not a favorable color on him either, if only for what it represented.

“Are you going back to your world soon?”

Elizabeth blinked at the question. It was an unexpected break in the silence, and the tone of it was heavy with a bitterness Elizabeth hadn’t anticipated. She looked at Eric in confusion. “I was not planning to just yet.”

Eric shifted his tired gaze back to hers. “Why? It’s been a month since the funeral. I thought you would have left by now, with nothing more keeping you here.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Do you think so little of our friendship? Your father was very dear to me, but he is not the only person here I care about.” She reached out and grasped Eric’s hand. He flinched, but did not pull away. “I love you just as much as I did your father, Eric. I have no intention of abandoning you so soon after his passing.”

Eric’s face contorted with mingled doubt and gratitude. He swallowed heavily. “I…” He gritted his teeth, guilt soaking his expression. He gave his head a small shake, dispersing the words he had intended to say. Glancing away, he tugged his hand free of Elizabeth’s.

“What is it?” Elizabeth gently prompted, watching his face closely.

Eric clenched his hands. His jaw trembled, and he worked it open slowly, forcing the words out with a pained reluctance. “I…” He voice was small, like a child admitting a wrongdoing they had committed. “I had not realized the extent of his disappointment in me.”

Sorrow filled Elizabeth at the confession. She leaned forward and placed her hand alongside Eric’s face. “Eric, you know that your father was proud of you.”

“Was he? Is that why he passed his power onto Lord Mauscher? Forgive me, I mean _Viceroy_ Mauscher. How dull-minded of me, forgetting his new title.”

“Temporary title,” Elizabeth reminded him weakly.

Eric gave a bitter laugh. “Yes, until I am ‘deemed worthy’ of the throne’s responsibilities.”

Elizabeth sat back. There was a dark sarcasm lacing Eric’s words she had never heard from him before. It unnerved her, hearing such a morbid tone coming from the usually jovial prince. She opened her mouth, but Eric continued before she could interject.

“Not that I ever cared about the throne, obviously.” His hands tightened on his legs. “But it was such a wonderful surprise, hearing about my father’s complete lack of faith in me only hours after his death. The major timed that perfectly, as always.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together in frustration. She had not been pleased with Major Mint’s lack of tact in informing Eric of the king’s decision to pronounce Lord Masucher viceroy so soon after his father’s death. She knew the major had done so not out of malicious intent, but to carry out the king’s wishes in his usual dutiful manner. But that did little to ease her anger with the man, and Elizabeth had given the major a firm piece of her mind on the matter shortly afterwards. Unfortunately, though, the damage to Eric had already been done.

“Eric,” she said gently. “Your father loved you. He always had faith in your abilities to rule; he simply wanted to be _certain_ that you were ready for the role before taking it on. It is not an easy one – you know that.”

“I should be ready. I’m twenty, Elizabeth,” said Eric sullenly.

“Barely.”

“Still more than old enough for it. Father had been nineteen when he was crowned.”

Elizabeth sighed.

Eric picked at a loose thread from the stitching on the side of his breeches. “It’s not even about being king,” he said quietly. “It’s…it’s the thought that he died thinking that I…that I wasn’t good enough.” His eyes shone with unshed tears, and he blinked hard, forcing them back.

Tears brimmed Elizabeth’s own eyes. She shifted closer to Eric and placed her hand on the back of his head, pulling him into an embrace. He let out a shaky breath, leaning heavily into her touch. “You still have much to learn, Eric,” she murmured, affection softening her pained tone. “Being good enough for something and being _ready_ for it are not the same thing. Do not let your grief confuse the two.”

Eric tightened his grip on Elizabeth. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head and released him, allowing him to lean back against the window. Uncertainty still clouded his expression, but the utter despair that had blanketed it before seemed to have lessened somewhat.

There was a sudden knock at the main door to the bedchamber. Eric started at the noise, and Elizabeth’s hand flew to his, covering it in an almost protective manner.

“Your Highness?”

Elizabeth immediately recognized the deep voice of the head of the royal guard, Rodolph. She relaxed, freeing Eric’s hand.

Eric sighed. “Yes?”

The door opened, and Rodolph peered inside, his expression stoic – as usual. Though there did seem to be a hint of concern in his eyes as he looked at the prince. “His Excellency Viceroy Mauscher has demanded to see you in the throne room, Your Highness.”

“Demanded?” repeated Eric with a frown.

“His wording, not mine,” Rodolph said. There was vague disgust in his tone, though it was not meant for Eric. It vanished quickly, and Rodolph straightened, shrouding any lingering emotions on his face.

Eric’s frown deepened. He exchanged a glance with Elizabeth, who looked equally wary at the summons. Then she gave a curt nod and stood, brushing out the wrinkles in her skirt.

“Apologies, my lady,” said Rodolph. “But the viceroy insisted on the prince coming alone.”

“Did he?” Elizabeth said, a fierce glint flashing in her eyes.

Eric stood. “It’s alright,” he said to Elizabeth. “I don’t mind speaking with him.”

“He hasn’t bothered conversing with you more than twice in the past month,” said Elizabeth suspiciously. “What could he possibly have to say to you now?”

Eric shrugged, looking exhausted by the question. A month ago, Elizabeth would had expected him to make some light-hearted quip, most likely at Mauscher’s expense. But now, he looked barely able to hold a proper conversation, much less spout jokes.

She looked back at Rodolph. “The viceroy was quite clear on his desire to see the prince alone?”

Rodolph nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

Eric laid his hand on Elizabeth’s arm reassuringly. “I’m sure it will be brief.” He gave her a soft smile. “Thank you. For staying.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant during the past month, or remaining here while he went to the throne room. But she returned the smile, the expression tainted with worry for him.

Eric crossed the room, nodding at Rodolph as he walked into the corridor. Rodolph hesitated, exchanging a nervous glance with Elizabeth. Then, shaking his head, he followed Eric, letting the door shut behind him.

Elizabeth stared at the closed door, biting her lip as apprehension swelling within her. Something was wrong. Long minutes passed, and the debate in her mind made her unease grow to an unbearable level.

Letting Eric meet with Mauscher alone was a mistake.

She set her jaw, her decision made. Her steps fast and determined, she strode to the doorway and into the corridor. As she did, the anxiety within her amplified with a sudden swiftness, and she quickened her pace.

_Let me be wrong. Let everything be alright._

She was almost to the throne room.

Distant cries of alarm and the stampeding of panicked footsteps dashed away any remaining hope. She burst into a run and turned the corner, only to jerk back against a wall to avoid being trampled by group of at least a dozen courtiers.

“What is it?” Elizabeth rushed forward, grabbing onto the sleeve of a duchess she did not remember the name of. “What’s happening?”

The woman tore free with a frightened wail and stumbled down the corridor.

“The viceroy!” cried a nobleman. He clutched his disarrayed wig against his head in one hand, eyes wide with horror. “He’s gone mad!”

Terror shot through Elizabeth. “The prince!” She lunged for the man’s arm, trying to slow his retreat. “Where is the prince?”

The man shook his head frantically, then dashed after the others fleeing down the corridor.

Elizabeth raced towards the throne room, elbowing aside panicking courtiers as she shoved her way through the bedlam. “Eric!” she shouted. “ _Eric!_ ”

“Lady Elizabeth!”

Elizabeth spun around. Rodolph was running towards her. “You must flee with the others!” he exclaimed.

“Rodolph!” Elizabeth rushed forward to meet him. “Where is Eric?”

“Still inside the throne room,” said Rodolph. He glanced over his shoulder. “He managed to get out of the way in time when the viceroy first attacked. Mauscher missed him with the scepter and hit a duke instead. Then everything erupted into chaos. Mauscher’s men captured the prince; I tried to get to him, but I was pushed out by the crowd –”

Elizabeth shoved him aside and ran towards the throne room’s open doors. Nearly all of the court had emptied from it by now, and Elizabeth could almost see beyond. But there was no sign of Eric. “ _Eric!_ ”

Rodolph grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist, yanking her to a stop. “It’s too dangerous! You will only be turned too, as my men who tried to protect him were.”

Elizabeth looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

Rodolph glanced warily at the throne room. “I have never seen magic like that. The king had never performed such spells, not even on his enemies…” The words trailed off, and Rodolph stared down the corridor, his eyes haunted by whatever he had seen.

Elizabeth gave Rodolph a hard shake. “Rodolph, _focus!_ We must get to Eric. If they had only captured him, there may still be a chance.”

The ferocity in her words seemed to snap Rodolph out of his stunned state. Determination seized him, and he nodded. “Come,” he said. “We will take the private entrance to the throne room. Though I do not know how we will get to the prince unseen.”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” said Elizabeth darkly. She cast a glare at the throne room’s doors, then looked expectantly at Rodolph.

Rodolph gripped the handle of the sword hanging from his belt. “We must make haste.” He turned towards a corridor branching off the one they were standing in and ran down it, Elizabeth following close behind.

/

Elizabeth had not seen what curse Masucher had cast upon Rodolph. He had sacrificed himself to ensure that Elizabeth had escaped with Eric’s enchanted form, and in the mayhem following, there had been little time for her to do anything besides flee.

She had only been successful in escaping because of the tunnels Eric had shown her in the years past. As a child, he took great delight in leading her through all of the castle’s secret passageways he had discovered. The king had shown her a few as well, but it ended up being one of Eric’s tunnels that she escaped down. The memory brought tears to her eyes, and she tightened her grip on the precious bundle in her arms, swallowing the sobs that threatened to spew forth.

How could everything have gone so terribly wrong?

/

Maushcer’s men had thoroughly infected Parthenia. By the time Elizabeth had emerged from the secret tunnel, the capital was overrun by the invading troops. News of the missing prince must have reached them, for no building was left unscathed in their violent search attempts.

It would be impossible for Elizabeth to get to her usual world traveling passage entrance. Instead, she was forced to leave the city behind, disappearing into the forest for safety.

The next closest world traveling entrance she knew of would take nearly a week to reach on foot. It was a slow journey, one hindered even more so by the need to stay hidden. Yet with the help of friends she had made throughout Parthenia over the past years, it was not an impossible task. She refrained from telling those who assisted her of the contents of the bundle she kept by her side, unwilling to endanger them with such knowledge. Though curious, none of them pressed for information about it.

Eventually, she made it to the entrance. Concealed in a well-hidden cave, it was one not yet discovered by Masucher or his men. She passed through to her world easily, praying there was no magic trail left behind that could lead Masucher to her location. She concealed her path as well as she could, then made her way to her house.

/

Weeks passed, but she could not break the enchantment on Eric – even trying to weaken the spell proved to be futile. It throbbed with a dark aura, strong in the hatred it had been cast with.

The days grew colder as winter progressed into December, and hopelessness began to fester within Elizabeth. Yet she refused to give up. She _could_ not. Not on Eric. The son of one of her most beloved friends. The boy who brought so much light to Elizabeth’s life. The boy who had made his father smile on the days no one else could, and who was the cause of so much laughter within the walls of Parthenia’s castle.

She already lost his father. She refused to lose him.

But what else could she do, with nearly all of her options having run out?

She frowned, staring out the window of her parlor. Snow had begun to drift down from the sky, covering the world in a thin layer of white powder. Across the street, a young boy and girl were running about and laughing as they tossed snowballs at each other. The boy was wearing a wool hat much too large for him, and the girl wore a thick scarf, over which spilled long blonde hair. The wavy locks shone bright gold in the afternoon sunlight, strongly reminding Elizabeth of her niece.

Elizabeth froze.

Clara.

 _Clara_. Elizabeth straightened, exhilaration surging within her. There was no definite proof, but Elizabeth had wondered for some time now if Clara had been gifted with the same talents she possessed herself. There had been a few moments that had seemed telling, but it hadn’t been enough for Elizabeth to be certain. Clara had brushed off any odd happenings as strange coincidences or vastly good fortune, but Elizabeth was prone to think otherwise.

Now it was the only hope she had. Perhaps there was something within Clara that could break the enchantment. Something special, that set her apart even from Elizabeth.

Christmas was less than a month away. It would be the perfect opportunity – a Christmas gift would raise no questions from Clara’s grandfather. Besides, Elizabeth would need the time to make the travel arrangements.

True hope rose in Elizabeth for the first time in days, and she smiled broadly. Christmas Eve then. She turned away from the window, rushing to her study to write a letter to her uncle.


	18. Grief Part II

He was tempted to just leave the damn thing in the woods and be done with it.

The Nutcracker growled in frustration, twisting his right arm against the connecting arm socket. Clara, Major Mint, and Candy Captain were setting up camp for the night, while the Nutcracker had offered to collect firewood. He had spoken up before anyone else could, anxious to have a few precious minutes to himself. Being in the captain and major’s presence all day had become an exhausting task. He had to be on his constant guard around them, contemplating everything he said before speaking, to avoid accidently revealing who he was.

The major was determined to discover everything he possibly could about the Nutcracker. His unending interrogation had added another layer of weariness to the already tiring day, and the Nutcracker could not help casting Clara a look of gratitude when she distracted the major by asking him to tell her some stories from his military career. The major had happily obliged, and the remainder of the day had been mostly filled by his chatter, which the Nutcracker and the captain quickly tuned out.

It had been at least half an hour since the Nutcracker had left camp. He had filled his arms with a sufficient amount of firewood and had been ready to turn back. But then he lifted his right arm too far, and it had unhitched from its socket, tumbling to the ground with the gathered wood.

He’d been trying to hook it back in for what felt like at least ten minutes. He found a tree stump near the edge of a drop-off in the forest to sit on while he worked, having abandoned the firewood to the thicker mass of trees behind him. Frustration had long seized him by now, and his left arm was starting to ache from the awkward angle it was in as he worked with the unattached limb. Finally, he let out a sound of disgust and tossed the arm to the ground.

He sighed, resting his left arm on his knee as he stared out over the rim of the drop-off before him. He supposed he should find the entire concept of his arm falling out so frequently ridiculous. But he was just tired. And annoyed.

And much lonelier than he had ever felt in his entire life. Despite the fact that he was in the company of his best friend, his old tutor, and…well, if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure what Clara was to him. An acquaintance? A friend? Something more than both of those?

“Nutcracker?”

The Nutcracker turned around. Soothing relief flowed through him at the sight of Clara stepping out of the shadows of the trees. She smiled softly at him, but her expression sobered as her gaze fell upon the discarded limb on the ground.

“Are you alright?” she asked in concern.

He glanced at the arm in embarrassment. “Yes. I just…” He sighed, whatever excuse he had planned dissipating into the air. He was too exhausted to bother continuing the stoic façade he had hidden behind all day. Or perhaps he simply felt comfortable enough around Clara to be honest with her. “I am sincerely missing having arms made of muscle and bone. They did not have the vexing habit of falling off frequently.”

Clara walked forward, her lips twisting into a sympathetic grimace. She bent and picked up the arm.

“You don’t need to –” began the Nutcracker.

“Oh, hush.” Clara flashed him a shy smile. She stood beside him, as she was short enough to reach his arm socket without needing to kneel. He remained sitting on the stump, though he turned his head to watch her as she rotated the limb in her hands.

When he had been hoping to meet Elizabeth Drosselmeyer’s niece, he hadn’t thought their interaction would be so extensive. He almost wanted to laugh at what could be seen as extraordinarily good fortune on his part, or some kind of mocking joke from fate. He had never quite freed himself of that strange desire to meet her once he had given Elizabeth the folk tales book. Clara had not been a _constant_ presence in his mind in the four years since, but she had lingered at the edges, just enough for him not to forget the faceless girl.

It had been quite the surprise to wake up to her in the parlor.

She was slightly different than he had imagined. She had that reserved nature her aunt had described, but there was a quiet fierceness to her he hadn’t been expecting. A determination to complete whatever task she undertook, mixed with a bravery he supposed he should have anticipated from the niece of Elizabeth Drosselmeyer. It was a contrast he found vastly interesting.

Clara narrowed her eyes, studying the inside of the wooden socket. “Hm,” she mused. “Well, I hate to judge another’s craftsmanship, but I’m afraid that whoever designed your body did not do a very good job. It’s no wonder you’re having trouble with your arm. The hook on it is barely arched enough to lock into the socket properly.” She tapped the wooden rod running through the socket. “Not to mention the worn state of the wood.”

“Well, unfortunately the person responsible for this hadn’t bothered to ensure that his work was of the best quality.” The Nutcracker shook his head ruefully. “I’m certain the poorness of it was a purposeful choice.”

Clara’s fingers faltered on the socket rod. She studied the wood solemnly, pressing her lips together in anger at the state of the Nutcracker’s body. “Well then,” she said, brushing aside her indignation for a matter-of-fact tone. “I suppose the responsibility of fixing it falls upon me.” She leaned in closer and brought the arm up to the socket, her brow creasing as she lined the limb up.

Clara twisted the arm upwards, guiding the hooked end into the socket with care. The Nutcracker watched her silently, unable to hold back a smile as she pursed her lips in concentration. With a complicated twist, Clara hitched the arm in place. The Nutcracker grimaced at the odd sensation, still unused to it even after having done it countless times.

Clara glanced at him worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” The Nutcracker rolled his arm back, trying to adjust it into a more comfortable position. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Clara returned her gaze to his arm, frowning critically. Reaching up, she untied a pink ribbon from her hair. She waved at his arm impatiently, gesturing for him to raise it. He did so, though bewilderment passed over his face.

“What are you –”

“I’m not sure this will work,” interrupted Clara. “It actually might make it worse.” She pushed the Nutcracker’s arm up further and bent her head so that she could see into the now-exposed part of the socket. “But if I tie the hook of your arm to the socket rod, that should keep it together.”

The Nutcracker raised an eyebrow. “Won’t that just hinder the movement of the arm?”

Clara shrugged. “Maybe.” She threaded the ribbon around the hook of his arm. “But I’m using a taut-line hitch on the arm hook. That kind of a knot will move along the ribbon, so it shouldn’t impede your use of it. Much.” Her lips twisted into an uncertain grimace. “Hopefully.”

“You know how to make a taut-line hitch?” the Nutcracker asked in surprise.

Clara gave him a rather smug smile. “My brother had wanted to be a sailor a couple of years ago. He got a book on knots for his birthday, and made me learn some of them with him.” She snorted. “He hasn’t opened the book in a while, though. Now I think he wants to be a captain in the army.” She shook her head in affectionate exasperation. “He’s eleven, so he changes his mind on the matter often.”

“That sounds wonderful. Having that freedom of choice for your future.” He hadn’t meant to voice the bitter thought out loud. Upon realizing that he had, he glanced nervously at Clara. She gave him a sympathetic look, but did not respond. Not sure what to say, the Nutcracker returned his focus to her work.

It was fortunate that Clara’s fingers were so thin and long, for any thicker hands would be unable to perform such a task. The Nutcracker shifted, the faint tingling of her fingers moving _inside_ his body strange.

“Stop moving,” snapped Clara.

“Sorry,” he said, obediently stilling.

With the ribbon gone from Clara’s hair, a few of the golden strands tumbled loosely into her face. She frowned and blew at the lock, trying to move it to the side. The piece puffed outwards – only to fall back against her nose. Unable to free her hands to move it, Clara sighed in annoyance.

The Nutcracker smirked, finding her exasperated expression rather endearing. He reached around with his left hand. The hand was clunky, and lacking any digits besides a thumb, but the Nutcracker managed to brush aside the lock of hair with little problem.

Clara looked up at him in surprise. He stared back, startled by his own audacity, despite at how natural the interaction had felt. He hadn’t even thought about it; it had been a reactionary gesture – one he felt strangely comfortable doing.

“I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I –”

“No, no. It’s fine,” reassured Clara. She glanced at his arm, then snapped her gaze back to his. “I…thank you. For…well, thank…you,” she repeated lamely. A rosy blush blossomed on her cheeks, and she ducked her head, focusing intently back on the job she had initiated. She hastily tied the other end of the ribbon to the socket rod. Picking up the trailing length of the ribbon, Clara glanced at the sword hanging from the Nutcracker’s side. “May I use that?”

“What?” He followed Clara’s gaze. “Oh, yes.” He grasped the sword’s handle with his left hand and pulled the blade free, carefully handing it to Clara.

Clara’s arm sagged beneath the weight of the weapon. “It’s heavier than I thought it’d be,” she muttered. She adjusted it in her hand, eyeing the Nutcracker’s arm socket. “Perhaps this is not the best idea, but neither of us are carrying a knife, so…” She pulled the ribbon taut with her free hand, then rested the sword against it. She added only the slightest bit of pressure, but it was more than enough. The sword sliced cleanly through the ribbon, and Clara clumsily yanked the weapon free of the Nutcracker before the blade could damage him.

“There,” she said, holding out the sword proudly.

The Nutcracker lowered his right arm. He took the weapon, re-sheathing it.

“Well, come on now,” prompted Clara. She straightened and motioned for him to stand. “Tell me if it was a horrible idea or not.”

The Nutcracker stood. He walked forward a few paces, bending and twisting his right arm about to test it. “Hm,” he muttered.

“Is it dreadfully terrible? I can cut the ribbon out, if you’d like.”

The Nutcracker frowned thoughtfully, turning the arm over. “No,” he finally said. “No, I think it should be fine. It feels incredibly strange, and the movement in that arm is a little stiffer now, but I don’t mind so long as I do not have to constantly reattach the limb.” He smiled at her warmly. “Thank you.” A humorous glint flashed in his eyes. “I’ll have to start paying you for your medical services, at the rate you keep tending to me.”

Clara grinned and slipped the remains of the ribbon into her nightgown pocket. “I’ll hold you to that promise,” she teased. She tucked another loose strand of hair behind her ear and turned away from the Nutcracker to look out over the ravine before them. “It’s a beautiful place,” she murmured.

The Nutcracker nodded in agreement. “It’s so strange,” he said. “Being here, so close to home, and yet not being…who I was. Everything has changed so much from before.”

Clara glanced at him sadly, but the Nutcracker kept his focus on the scenery.

“My father had taken me here often when I was a boy. We had gone hunting on a few occasions.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid I was terrible at it. Couldn’t bring back even a pheasant for a prize.” His gaze drifted upwards, to the sliver of the setting sun barely visible over the treetops. “But the hunt was not what I remembered the excursions for. Father would tell me stories. Folk tales about Parthenia, or stories Mother had collected over the years. We would watch the sunset, just like this, and he would recite them to me.” The final word had been spoken stiffly, cut off by the Nutcracker to conceal the emotion wavering beneath it.

 Clara stepped closer and placed a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I know what it feels like to lose your parents.”

The Nutcracker let out a shaky breath. “I thought it would be easier the second time. I had already gone through it once, and I am much older now. It should have been.”

Clara shook her head. “That does not matter. He was still your father.” She took his hand in her free one. “Time will dull the pain. I promise.”

The Nutcracker looked at her. “I’m sorry you lost your mother and father.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Thank you.”

“What were they like?”

Clara tilted her head thoughtfully. “They sound similar to your parents. Father worked at the bank, but he loved anything to do with knowledge. Books, articles, attending guest lectures at the university. He got so excited talking to us about it all. For Mother though…her love was the ballet.” Clara’s gaze wandered along the trees on the opposite side of the ravine wistfully. “She took me to see _Giselle_ when I was five. I didn’t fully understand the story then, but the dancing and costumes were so beautiful that I was completely enraptured.” She sighed. “She only took me to the ballet two more times before…”

The Nutcracker curled his hand over Clara’s. She smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes. Then she gave her head a brisk shake, composing herself.

“Perhaps we should be getting back,” said the Nutcracker gently.

Clara nodded and pulled away from him. “Yes, I suppose.” A grin pricked the corner of her mouth. “I’m sure the poor captain is in agony waiting for us. We left him alone with the major for a terribly long time.”

The Nutcracker laughed. “That was rather horrid of us, wasn’t it? We had better hurry then.” He turned to head in the direction of the camp.

Clara fell into step beside him. “We’ll have to make it up to him.”

“How?”

Clara tapped her finger against her chin. “I’m not sure anything we do will suffice,” she finally joked. “But we shall have to think of _something_.”

The Nutcracker chuckled. “I will let you know the moment I do.”

Clara grinned, following him into the thickening trees to the pile of firewood he had abandoned. Together, they gathered up the wood and headed back to camp.


	19. Gas Light Part I

“ _And so the princess who was once a farm girl and the prince who was once a sparrow were married, and they lived in great happiness for the rest of their days._ ” Clara smiled, trailing her fingers over the words. Then her eyes flickered up the corner of the page she had been reading. She picked at the page’s corner, frowning at the crease there. “You had folded the corner over at one point.”

“Did I?” Eric turned his attention from his wife to the book. There were in their bed, with him sitting against the headboard, and Clara laying across the mattress, her chest and arms propped up on his legs. “Oh,” he said simply, staring at the offending crease. “Well, I _was_ seven when it was given to me.”

Clara shook her head, stroking the open pages of _Parthenian Folk Tales_ as though in apology for Eric’s abuse of them. “And you marked this particular page?” inquired Clara mischievously. She looked up at him. “Did you find it romantic?” she teased.

“No,” huffed Eric. “I thought it was ridiculous.”

“I don’t believe you,” laughed Clara. She stared at the book a moment longer, then pushed it to the side and sat up against his legs. “As lovely as the book is, I’m still debating on whether or not I should be vexed about you and Aunt Elizabeth using it to conspire against me.”

“Conspire?” Eric grinned. “What do you mean?”

“First the snow globe.” Clara ticked off on her finger. “Then the book.” She quirked an eyebrow with a smile. “I had no idea I had a secret admirer for so many years.”

“Now hold on a minute. I was _ten_ when Elizabeth gave you the snow globe. I merely came up with the idea; it was _her_ gift.”

“Yes, you gave her the idea. And dictated exactly how it was supposed to look.”

Eric opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of a response to that.

“And Aunt Elizabeth told me the book was _entirely_ your doing.”

“Well…” Eric gave an embarrassed shrug. “I had no other use for it, so I thought…”

“You thought a girl you had never met might enjoy it?” Clara leaned forward, pausing so that her mouth was just shy of his. “I’m beginning to wonder if I was duped into this marriage,” she joked. “By you and my devious aunt.”

Eric made a mock offended expression. “I was far from some lovesick boy pining after a girl worlds away.” His smile took on a smug tilt. “Would it make you feel better if I said I courted dozens of girls before meeting you?”

Alarm briefly flashed in Clara’s eyes. “You did not.”

Eric laughed. “No, I did not.”

Clara made a sound of feigned annoyance, rolling her eyes. Then she grinned and pressed a firm kiss to Eric’s mouth. He blinked in surprise at the suddenness of it, but quickly relaxed, drawing her close. She cradled his face in her hands as she moved to kiss his cheek, stroking his skin beneath her lips with her thumb. She could feel Eric’s lips curving upwards, and she turned to kiss the corner of his mouth, catching his smile.

“I hope you know that we cannot act like this when we arrive at Grandfather’s,” murmured Clara. “Your last attempt at sneaking a kiss was near-disastrous.”

“Don’t you think your grandfather is a bit ridiculous?” Eric’s eyes fluttered open briefly as he nudged his nose against her cheek. “We are married, after all.”

“Do _you_ want to tell him that he’s ridiculous?”

“No,” Eric said quickly. “No, I’d rather keep that opinion between us.”

Clara chuckled. “Wise decision.”

“Your tone suggests that I normally _lack_ wisdom.”

“Not at all.” Clara said with exaggerated innocence. She brushed her fingers over his ear, tracing down to the edge of his jaw. “You are the epitome of sound judgement.”

Eric weaved his hand through her hair. “I don’t remember you being so flippant when we first met,” he commented, his tone teasing.

“Must be the effect of spending all this time with you.”

“Must be,” agreed Eric. He smiled adoringly at Clara, then pulled her into another kiss.

/

Though it was only late morning, the air felt stifling. The summer heat contributed to part of it, but the aroma of the surrounding trees made it almost overwhelming. Clara and Eric were standing in the Peppermint Wood, which was completely comprised of trees dressed in red and white peppermint leaves. Behind them was a ruby ice cave, inside of which was one of the world crossing passages they used to travel. The scent the peppermint trees emitted wasn’t unpleasant by any means, but in the heat of the day, it tended to be a bit much. It made Clara’s head swim from the sweetness of it, and she frowned at Eric, wishing he would end this nonsensical conversation so they could continue on.

Eric scrunched up his face in displeasure. “Are you sure there isn’t any other object from your world we can cloak it as?”

“You’re being rather childish about this, Eric.”

“I take great offense to that.” Eric gestured to the scepter propped up against the tree beside him and Clara. “This is a very old and powerful magical object. Disguising it as an _umbrella_ with a cloaking spell seems a bit disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“No. Not really. Not when the cloaking spell is what keeps it safe outside of Parthenia.” Clara snatched up the scepter and held it out to Eric. “Besides, we’ve done it multiple times before.”

“Yes, and it’s embarrassing.”

“You know what else is embarrassing? A king who prioritizes pride over logic.”

“That’s hurtful, Clara.”

Clara smirked at his sarcasm and pushed the scepter into Eric’s hands. “An umbrella matches the scepter’s size and shape the best. Cloak it. The sooner you do, the faster we can travel through the passage.”

Eric sighed. “Fine.”

/

They ended up arriving a day earlier then expected, due to the time shifting. But Eric seemed rather pleased with the time shift, as they had never made it so close to their intended arrival date before. Usually, if they arrived _too_ early, they stayed at a hotel for a few days before imposing on Clara’s grandfather. But Clara decided that a day early was something to be easily forgiven, so they continued on to her hometown.

The Drosselmeyer house was nestled in the heart of a large town in southern Germany. Even though the town was fairly modern, it managed to retain a gentle rustic atmosphere that Clara always found comforting to come back to. Mulberry Park was only a few blocks away from the Drosselmeyer house, and both the house and the park were set in a large neighborhood. Being on the edge of the neighborhood, the Drosselmeyer house was near many of the town’s public buildings, including the theatre and library.

To Clara’s surprise, it was only her brother who was at the house to greet them upon their arrival. Apparently, her grandfather had been visiting old university friends during the week, and his visit had gone on longer than expected. He had sent a telegram earlier that morning, telling them to expect him in two days.

To entertain themselves, Eric suggested that he and Clara take Tommy to the theatre. Clara heartily agreed, and went to her old room to freshen up and change into clothes appropriate for going out. Which left Eric to wait with Tommy.

“Two kings and a four.”

Eric rubbed a finger over his mouth thoughtfully, eyeing the cards in his hand. The corner of his lips twitched upwards. “Three dukes and a six.”

Tommy’s face scrunched up in concentration. He leaned forward, frowning at the cards as he struggled to decide his move.

Patiently relaxed, Eric tapped a ginger drop against the table as he waited. A large pile of the candies was set before him; on the opposite side of the table, a smaller handful had been gathered in front of Tommy, and a third mound was in the center of the table. The two were sitting on opposite sides of a card table in the parlor. Behind them, the curtains of the window had been drawn apart, allowing the golden glow of twilight to pool onto the card game laid between them.

“Wait, how many dukes did you say?” asked Tommy.

“Three.”

Tommy pressed his lips together, conflicted over what to do next.

“Do you need a hint?”

“No,” snapped Tommy defensively.

Eric shrugged and set his cards face-down. He considered the candy in his hand for a moment, then popped it into his mouth.

Tommy looked up in shock. “Are you _eating_ the tokens?”

“Tokens for what?” asked a new voice.

Eric and Tommy looked towards the parlor entrance. Clara swept into the room, dressed in an emerald green evening gown. Her hair was pinned up into an elegant twist, and a silver jeweled necklace lay about her throat. Eric stared at Clara, smiling dazedly at her. Tommy rolled his eyes, then glanced at Eric’s abandoned cards. Slowly, he reached for them, hoping to sneak a peek.

Eric spun back around and snatched the cards away. “Nice try,” he grinned.

Tommy gave a humph and sat back in his chair dejectedly.

Clara’s gaze fell on the cluttered table. “Are you playing Duke’s Hand?” Recognizing the Parthenian cards, she glared accusingly at Eric. “Eric, you can’t teach Tommy a _gambling_ game!”

“It’s alright – we’re not using _real_ money.” Eric gestured to the candies.

Clara placed a hand on her hip. “Using candy doesn’t make it any less of a gambling game.”

“He’s twelve, Clara. Plenty old enough to play.”

Tommy nodded in agreement.

Clara threw Tommy a warning look. “Very well then,” she huffed. She strutted over to her brother’s side and bent to look at his hand. Tommy frowned up at his sister, distrusting but allowing her to study his cards. Clara pointed to four of them. “Lay those down.”

Tommy eyed the indicated cards. His face brightened in realization, and he excitedly pulled them free to lay them face-up on the table. “Two kings, an ace, and a colonel. A royal sweep!”

Eric straightened, the smugness on his expression suddenly wiped away. “What?”

“Ha!” exclaimed Tommy, dragging the center candy pile into his own.

Eric gave a wry smile as he tossed his cards to the table in defeat. He glanced up at Clara, who was looking down at him in haughty triumph. Amused, Eric shoved the rest of his candies towards Tommy. “Here. You earned it.”

While Tommy stuffed his pockets with the ginger drops, Eric scooped up the cards. Tommy glanced at the cards curiously. “I’ve never seen cards like those before,” he said. “Are they only made in America?”

Eric rapped the cards against the table’s surface to straighten them. “I think so,” he lied. He turned the deck over, wondering if America truly did have a card-game similar to the Parthenian one he had been teaching Tommy.

Eric and Clara had yet to decide how – or if – they would ever explain Parthenia to Clara’s family. Clara doubted her grandfather would ever be able to understand she now resided in a kingdom that wasn’t even _in_ this world. Tommy, though, would probably have little trouble accepting it; in fact, she worried that he would insist on _living_ there with them. Perhaps it was for that reason that she wanted to wait until Tommy was older before she told him the truth.

As far as Clara’s family knew, she and Eric lived in Boston. That is where Elizabeth claimed to have met Eric’s father, and where Eric supposedly has lived his entire life. It was far enough away that Clara’s grandfather was not likely to travel to it, as long as Clara and Eric visited _him_ , yet familiar enough that he did not question Eric’s origins.

Clara often wished she could be honest with her family about her new home. Eric had offered to explain everything to her grandfather himself, but Clara rejected the suggestion, afraid of her grandfather’s reaction. He had been reluctant enough when he gave his approval for Clara and Eric to marry. With their marriage not having even reached its second anniversary, Clara felt it was still too soon to even consider attempting to explain the concept of _magic_ to her grandfather. So she decided to let it be for now.

Clara raised an eyebrow at Tommy’s bulging pockets. “Tommy, why don’t you go hide that candy in your room and change into your formal clothes? We need to leave within the next quarter of an hour if we’re to make it on time.”

“But I don’t need a quarter of an hour to change,” protested Tommy.

“You’re welcome to stay here if you wish,” said Clara with a shrug. “I’m sure the kitchen staff wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on you.”

Tommy made a face that was rather close to a pout. “Fine.” He sulked off, pulling out a ginger drop to eat as he made his way upstairs.

The parlor now empty save for the two of them, Eric stood and came up behind Clara. He placed a hand on her waist, pulling her close to press a kiss to her cheek.

Clara smiled and twisted around so that she was facing him. “You should change as well.”

“But you said we have a quarter of an hour,” reminded Eric lightly.

“Yes, and I would expect a king to have a better argument for his procrastination then repeating that of a twelve-year-old’s.”

Eric shook his head. “No respect,” he murmured. “Not even from the queen.” He moved to close the distance between them, but Clara hastily pulled free before he could properly kiss her.

“Go get dressed,” she said, grinning at his expression.

Eric gave a dramatic sigh. “Very well.”

Eric changed into formal clothes quickly, then went to check on Tommy, who had – unsurprisingly – become distracted in his room. Once Tommy was ready they hurried downstairs and were ushered out the door by an impatient Clara.


	20. Gas Light Part II

The sun had already dipped behind the houses lining the opposite side of the street the Drosselmeyer home was on. Warm rays of light stubbornly clung to the sky, blanketing the buildings in hues of rose and bronze. A few people mulled about, strolling up and down the street at a leisurely pace as the darkness of night approached.

Clara rested her hand on Eric’s arm, watching as Tommy wandered ahead of them, tapping a stick along the iron fence they walked beside. Clara breathed deeply, enjoying the open air. If her grandfather had been with them, he would have insisted that they take the carriage. But the theatre was not far, and Clara preferred walking.

“I feel a little guilty admitting this,” Clara said sheepishly. “But I’m rather glad Grandfather has been delayed a couple of days.”

“You don’t miss his oppressive brooding?” smirked Eric.

The corner of Clara’s lips curved upwards. “I love my grandfather, and I _do_ want to see him…but let’s just say that I appreciate being able to spend some time with _just_ my brother. And you, of course,” she added quickly.

“Thank you, love. Glad to be the afterthought in your affections.”

Clara laughed, gently elbowing Eric’s side.

They turned down a narrower street leading away from the rows of houses. Ahead, the dull roar of the city’s urban nightlife drifted over the cobblestones. Eagerness seized Tommy’s expression, and he hurried ahead. He had initially been reluctant to accompany Clara and Eric to the theatre, but when Eric mentioned that the play being performed was _Hamlet_ , which promised an abundance of sword fighting, Tommy’s hesitation dissipated rather quickly. Now, Tommy led his sister and brother-in-law through the town with a youthful eagerness they found highly amusing.

The sound of tiny scuttling feet caught Eric’s attention, and he glanced at the edge of the sidewalk. Running alongside it were nearly a dozen mice. Eric stared at the rodents, and Clara turned to follow his gaze. They both slowed, watching as the mice scrambled along the street, their nails scraping over the stones with an odd loudness. The animals scurried into a sewage drain, squeaking wildly as they splashed into the filthy water.

Clara glanced up at Eric. He stared after the mice for a long moment before shaking his head and pulling her away from the drain. The wariness in his eyes was not lost on Clara, and she tightened her grip on him, confused by the strange occurrence.

They made it to the theatre with just enough time to get seated before the play began. It was an extravagant production, and by the final act Tommy seemed to be the most entranced of them all.

“Wasn’t that final sword fight incredible?” said Tommy excitedly. He swiped his arm upwards in a dramatic slash. “And that fake blood! It was _everywhere!_ How’d they do it?” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I suppose it they had a bag hidden under their clothes. But what if it popped before the fight scene? Would they just continue on as if nothing happened, and pretend not to notice the gushing blood, or would Hamlet have to drop dead in Act Three, and then the whole play is ruined?”

“I think he enjoyed it,” Eric whispered to Clara.

Clara grinned. “Grandfather will be pleased to hear that. He’s worried that your American ways will be a bad influence on Tommy. Knowing that you had taken us to the theatre should satisfy him.”

“Well now, that isn’t a very gentlemanly thing of him to presume,” said Eric humorously. “I shall have to try and be better behaved around your grandfather then. Can’t allow him to develop a poor opinion of my home country.”

Clara let out a laugh. “I’m sure Americans everywhere will thank you for your efforts.”

Eric tightened his arm linking around Clara’s, his smile mirroring hers as they followed Tommy onto a bridge arching over a river that weaved through the town. Night had long fallen by the time they had left the theatre, but the summer sky was clear with speckled stars and a curved crescent moon. Gas lamps illuminated their path, casting a dusky glow over the bridge. As they stepped onto it, the sounds of the town seemed to dull, causing their footsteps to amplify unsettlingly.

Then they heard the familiar scurrying of tiny clawed feet.

“Eric...” breathed Clara nervously. She clutched his arm, and they twisted their heads around to watch as dozens of mice scuttled along the sides of the bridges. They moved quickly – and intently in their direction.

“Get Tommy,” said Eric, his voice low.

The pounding of heavy hooves against the cobblestones made Eric and Clara jerk their heads up. Half a dozen horses were galloping towards them. Their riders wore long cloaks that billowed out behind them, giving them the appearance of dark phantoms. It was hard to make out their faces, but as they came close it was clear that they were human. At least, they appeared to be.

“Tommy!” cried Clara. She turned to her brother, who was watching the mice with confused fascination.

Tommy looked at his sister, his brow furrowing at her sharp tone. His attention snapped to the approaching riders, and he moved to Eric and Clara’s side, apprehension on his face. Once he was within reach, Clara pulled him in-between her and Eric.

The riders formed a half-circle around the three, forcing them against the iron railing of the bridge. The mice ran between the horses’ legs in nonsensical circles, squeaking frantically, as though driven mad by the riders’ presence.

One of the riders nudged his horse forward. He was middle-aged, with a face made of handsome features that had been only lightly weathered by time. He studied the three of them calmly, though his gaze lingered on Eric. A rather smug smile pricked the edge of his mouth, and he twisted his horse’s reins over his wrist, the leather of his gloves creaking beneath the movement.

Recognition flickered in Eric’s eyes, followed by disbelief. “Vogt? How the devil did you get here?”

“Not a very eloquent greeting, for a king,” said the man. Something comprised of both amusement and disgust shadowed his tone.

“Vogt?” Clara frowned at the familiar name. Realization clicked in her mind, and she stared at the man in shock. “ _Johan_ Vogt?”

He had been a lord in Parthenia – once. A councilman of Eric’s father, who served beneath the king for many years. When the Mouse King had overtaken Parthenia, some of the councilmen realigned their allegiance to him, including Vogt. After being crowned king, Eric had spared the traitorous men from execution, not wanting to set a precedent for such a punishment so soon into his reign. Instead, the men were stripped of their titles and exiled.

But that did not explain how Vogt could had possibly gotten to Germany.

Johan Vogt turned to Clara and nodded his head in an unexpectedly respectful manner. “Your Majesty,” he greeted. “How wonderful, to finally meet you. The tales of your beauty certainly weren’t exaggerated. That is a pleasant surprise.”

Tommy frowned at the man. “Why are you talking to them like that? They aren’t royalty.”

Vogt gave a rough laugh. “Aren’t they?” He looked at Eric. “And who is this? Another child you separated from his father under the guise of charity? How _are_ the Corlynch children, by the way?”

Eric gritted his teeth. “What do you want?”

Vogt swept his cloak over his shoulder, revealing his belt. Hanging from it was a sword. He drew it and pointed it at Eric. “You.” He waved at Clara and Tommy. “They are free to leave. But you...” He shook his head. “We have business, Your Majesty.”

“He is not going anywhere with you,” Clara said viciously.

Vogt smirked. “How do you plan to stop us? I see that none of you carry a blade.” He shook his head at Eric. “I would think a king would be better prepared to protect his queen.”

Eric tightened his jaw. “If I go with you, you _must_ allow them to leave unharmed.”

“You are not going with them, Eric,” snapped Clara.

Tommy nodded fiercely, stepping slightly in front of Eric. But Eric immediately pushed Tommy behind him, ignoring Tommy’s hissing protest.

“Did I not just guarantee their release?” asked Vogt with a bored air. “Really, Eric, I would have thought you to have obtained _some_ sense since Mauscher’s curse.” He waved his hand. “Take him. Try not to harm the queen and the boy, though.”

The other five riders moved their horses forward. Eric spun and shoved Tommy and Clara towards the narrow space still left between the bridge railing and the final horse. “Go!” he shouted.

“Tommy, run!” Clara ordered.

Tommy hesitated. “But –”

Clara gave him a hard push. “ _Go!_ Get help!”

Conflict dominated Tommy’s face, but he nodded and dashed between the horse and railing, squeezing to freedom. The horse staggered back in surprise at the passing movement, but its rider prevented it from following Tommy.

Clara rushed back to Eric’s side and wrenched a hairpin from her hair. Nearly five inches in length, the beaded pin created a rather sharp point at its tip. Clara adjusted it in her hand, holding it out like a dagger.

“You were supposed to go _with_ him,” ground out Eric. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her against him.

“I’m not leaving you.” She raised the pin, glaring at Vogt.

Vogt laughed. “Don’t pique my interest, my queen. I may just take you along for the amusement.”

Eric snarled, tightening his grip on Clara.

Two of the horses rushed forward. Eric and Clara jumped clear of the stamping hooves, stumbling between the two animals. Eric lunged forward and grabbed the belt of the rider nearest him, yanking hard. The men tumbled from his horse with a cry, and Eric delivered a swift punch to the man, stunning him.

Clara turned to the other rider. Careful of the horse’s legs, she swung her arm forward and jabbed the pin into the rider’s thigh. The man let out a cry of pain and wrenched his horse backwards, colliding it with the rider behind him.

Another rider kicked his horse towards Eric, forcing him back against the bridge railing. Eric tried to side-step around the animal, but the man he had struck leapt up from the ground and threw himself at Eric, fists raised. Eric managed to dodge the first punch, but the other rider nudged his horse closer, distracting Eric. The man on foot slung his fist into Eric’s jaw, sending him staggering.

“Eric!” shouted Clara. Furious, she spun around to face the three horses that had formed a triangular prison around her. She searched for the man she had stabbed, hoping to rip the pin free and regain her weapon. But the injured man had already pulled the pin loose, and he waved it at her now, sneering.

In the distance, the shouts of approaching men could be heard – men Tommy must have found for help. Relief soared through Clara and she looked at the Vogt, hoping he would feel nervous enough to call the attack off.

Vogt frowned, glancing in the direction of the noise. “Hurry!” he commanded.

The man who had struck Eric grabbed Eric’s right arm and yanked it out at an odd angle, the force of the action nearly enough to dislocate the limb. Eric grunted in pain and fumbled for the bridge’s railing. Bracing his hand on the iron bar, he raised his foot and delivered a hard kick to his assailant’s stomach, sending him reeling.

The second man cornering Eric dismounted his horse and ran forward. Eric turned to face him, but the man lunged at him clumsily, and the two collided. Unable to find his balance, Eric rammed into the railing – and tumbled backwards over the side of the bridge.

“ _Eric!_ ” screamed Clara.

There was the splash of Eric hitting the water below the bridge...followed by nothing. No sounds of resurface or struggling. Just silence.

“You idiot!” Vogt spat at the man who had given Eric the final shove. The shouting was closer now, and Vogt jerked his head towards its source. A group of three men were racing onto the bridge, arms waving wildly. Behind them was the running figure of a boy.

Clara pushed against the horses surrounding her, desperate to get to the bridge’s edge. With no indication that Eric had resurfaced, Clara feared that he had struck his head on something, dazing him or rendering him unconscious. “Eric! _Eric!_ Please, he could be drowning!”

Vogt pushed his way through the horses and scooped up Clara, pulling her onto his saddle. “It seems we _will_ be taking you with us after all, Your Majesty.” He gestured harshly to two of his men. “Get down there! Make sure he doesn’t drown, or this will all be for nothing.”

The indicated men nodded and hurried towards the end of the bridge, where the sloping bank led to the river.

Clara twisted and writhed, fighting viciously. “Let me go! You can’t! _No!_ ”

Vogt tightened his arms over Clara, easily holding her small frame against his broad chest. “Let’s go.” He gave his horse a hard kick, sending the animal galloping over the bridge and away from the men running towards them. Vogt’s men followed, and the group vanished into the dark summer night.

/

The river was surprisingly cold. Eric’s body tensed at the shock of it, and for a moment all he could do was sink into the murky depths, the sound of rushing water blocking out Clara’s horrified scream. His body trembled from the chill of the water, then his limbs twitched into movement. At first, he moved to propel himself to the water’s surface. But he thought better of it, and instead twisted around to swim towards the riverbank. His lungs burned from the lack of air, and he kicked his legs fiercely, willing himself to make the distance.

He surfaced amongst a weaving entanglement of cattails and brush, which had grown over the edge of the river. Satisfied that he was hidden far enough beneath the bridge, Eric pulled himself onto the bank. He wearily laid on his side, mud caking his soaked clothes as he fought for breath.

How did Vogt get to Germany? There were a very _few_ select people Eric was aware of that knew the art of world traveling, and Vogt had not been one of them. Perhaps Mauscher had taught him, but it seemed unlike Mauscher to share such knowledge with someone he would see as an inferior.

_Clara._

Had they taken her? Was she alright? Alarm seized Eric, and he placed shaky hands against the ground to push himself into a sitting position. But pain shot up his right arm as he put pressure on it, and he flinched, groaning at the burning in his shoulder. Mud squelched beneath his movements as he gingerly sat up, and he frowned, glaring at the arm.

Most of the time, his arm gave him little trouble. But after his curse had been lifted, the limb had never had been the same. If he was extraordinarily tired it would tend to ache, and pain flared in it if he strained it too much. Now, after it being yanked around violently and him falling off the bridge, it seared with pain to an almost dizzying level.

The thudding of approaching footsteps made him snap his head up. Stumbling down the embankment were two of Vogt’s men – one of whom was holding a knife. Eric hastily pushed himself to his feet, glancing about for something to use as a weapon. But it was hard to concentrate, as he was lightheaded from the attack and the pain in his shoulder. Fear pooled within him. Fighting off two men would be impossible in his current state.

The man with the knife smiled, wagging the blade mockingly at Eric. “We’re not done with you yet, Your Majesty.” He laughed. “If you come quietly, maybe Vogt will have mercy on your pretty wife.”

Eric gritted his teeth, fury boiling through his fear for Clara. He took a step away from the men, grasping his useless arm.

“Eric!”

Eric twisted around. Tommy was hurrying down the opposite riverbank, flanked by three men. They skidded to a stop at the edge the river, and one of the men pulled out a pistol, aiming it at the man with the knife.

“Hold it right there!” ordered the man with the pistol.

The man holding the knife snarled. “This is none of your concern! Waste your time elsewhere.”

The man cocked the pistol. “Back off, or I will fire.”

Eric’s attacker snorted. He and his companion took another step towards Eric.

The sound of the pistol going off cracked loudly into the night, echoing beneath the bridge at a deafening volume. A cry of pain emanated from the man with the knife, and he stumbled backwards, letting the blade tumble to the ground as he clutched his bicep. Blood seeped through his fingers, evidence of the precisely aimed bullet wound. The man glared at the stranger with the pistol, then focused his livid gaze on Eric.

“Have it your way,” he snapped viciously. He began to edge away from Eric. “No matter – we have your precious queen. Was it worth losing her for a few more hours of freedom?”

Eric lunged at the man, rage pulsating throughout his body.

The man jumped free of the attack and tugged his companion after him. “Let’s go!” The two turned away from Eric and raced up the riverbank.

Eric burst into an immediate pursuit. But with his injured arm, it was difficult to climb up the muddy slope. By the time he made it to the top, the men had disappeared.

Gut-wrenching panic filled him, making it hard to think clearly.

Clara. _They had Clara._

He struggled for breath, unable to catch even a gasp of air in his terror.

“Eric!”

Eric spun around. Tommy and the three men were running across the bridge towards him. Once they were near Eric, the three men slowed to a stop. Tommy, though, ran forward to collide with Eric, wrapping his arms around him fiercely.

Eric returned the embrace as best he could with one arm. Tommy rarely showed affection in such a physical manner to Eric – him doing so now only deepened Eric’s anxiety, as he realized how frightened Tommy truly was. “Are you alright, Tommy?”

Tommy nodded and pulled away from Eric. “Your arm…”

Eric’s left hand instinctively moved to the throbbing limb. “It’s not broken. I’ll be fine.” He looked at the three men. “Thank you.”

The man who had fired the pistol nodded, his expression grim. “It was a lucky chance, your boy finding us. We were the only ones left on the street he came running down.” He studied Eric closely. “Did you know those men?”

“No,” lied Eric, hoping they hadn’t heard his assailant’s taunt about Clara.

Another man frowned, doubt in his eyes. “They were fairly dedicated thieves, then.”

Eric shrugged, then winced at his injured arm’s protest.

The third man gestured to Tommy. “The lad said his sister was here too. Where is she now?”

Tommy looked at Eric in agonized expectation, his eyes wide as he waited for Eric’s answer.

Eric glanced away from Tommy, his heart sinking with guilt. “Gone,” he said quietly.

“Gone?” repeated the first man. “Taken by those men on horses, you mean?”

Eric nodded, his jaw tightening.

Panicked fear blanketed Tommy’s expression. He glanced about frantically, then rushed forward, in the direction Vogt’s men had gone. Eric threw his good arm out and grabbed Tommy around the chest, yanking him back. “Tommy, wait!”

“Let me go!” shouted Tommy. “We can’t just stand here, we have to find her!”

“I know, Tommy!” Eric tightened his arm on the boy. “I _know_. But we must _think_ , plan out what to do first. Blindly running after those men will only get you hurt.”

Tommy stilled, his bottom lip trembling in his uncertainty of what to do. Then he nodded shakily. Eric released him, and Tommy turned back to face the group.

“The police station isn’t far from here,” said one of the men. “Do you need us to take you there? Or we could help you search for her.”

“No,” replied Eric. “Thank you for all that you’ve done, but we can find our way to the station ourselves.”

“You sure?” asked another man.

Eric nodded.

The man who had shot the pistol pressed his lips together in concern. “If you insist.” He narrowed his eyes at the line of buildings beyond the bridge. “We’ll take the longer route back to our homes. If we see anything, we’ll be sure to contact the police.”

“Thank you,” Eric said sincerely.

The man nodded. “Good luck. And be careful.” He waved at his friends, and they walked in the direction Vogt’s men had gone, disappearing down the winding streets.

Eric watched them leave, then gestured at Tommy. “Come on, Tommy. We need to get back to the house”

Surprise flickered across Tommy’s face. “The house? What about the police?”

Eric shook his head. “They can’t help us.” He sighed. “I need the scepter,” he muttered, the thought meant for himself despite being spoken aloud.

“The what?” asked Tommy.

Eric glanced at Tommy. “My…umbrella.”

Tommy stared at Eric. “Your _umbrella?_ ” he repeated, aghast. “My sister has just been kidnapped, and you want to get your _umbrella?_ Have you gone completely mad?” He looked up at the sky, gesturing wildly. “It’s not even raining!”

“It’s not a regular umbrella,” said Eric, his voice low. He glanced about them warily, then grabbed Tommy’s arm and tugged him in the direction of the Drosselmeyer house.

“Oh, well, if it’s a _special_ umbrella, then by all means!” exclaimed Tommy sarcastically. He tore free of Eric. “What we _should_ be doing is getting the police.”

“They’ll never find her. Those men will be sure to shield themselves and Clara from any nonmagical search.”

“ _Shield_ them? _Nonmagical_? What are you talking about? Who _are_ they?”

“Men who shouldn’t be here in the first place,” said Eric grimly. He gestured again, harshly. “Come _on_ , Tommy. We need to get back to the house.”

“No.” Tommy shook his head. “We have to go to the police.” He threw his hands up in frustration, looking at Eric in disbelief. “I thought you _loved_ her. If you do, you should want to go to the police – _they_ can help.” Desperation fought to overcome the hopelessness in his eyes. “She’s my _sister_.”

“And she’s my _wife_ ,” said Eric, his voice strained on the final word. He placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Of course I love her, Tommy. More than anything. Which is why we need to go back to the house. What’s there can help us find her faster than anyone at the police station ever could.” He tightened his grip on the boy. “You _must_ trust me.”

Tommy searched Eric’s eyes, looking for the truth in Eric’s words. Tears welled in his eyes, and he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered.

Eric patted Tommy’s shoulder. “Let’s go. And stay close to me.”

Tommy looked behind them nervously, then hurried after Eric, never wavering from his side as they rushed back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve got a lot going on this week and next week, so I probably won’t update for at least a week or so. So I thought I’d leave it at this nice little cliffhanger. Enjoy! ;)


	21. Gas Light Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no self control. I was *going* to work on homework (hence the not-updating note), but then I thought, “nah, I can quick write out like one page of chapter 21 to start on it. JUST one though.” And then I wrote the entire chapter. So....here you go. haha

Most of the staff at the Drosselmeyer residence was sleeping by the time Eric and Tommy made it back to the house. But since they nor Clara had yet returned from the theatre, the house’s butler, Walther, had stayed awake, waiting for them. Walther had been employed by the Drosselmeyers for over twenty years now, and was beloved by all who lived there. With a calm wisdom and a liking for telling stories by the children’s bedsides, he was a soothing contrast to the sternness of Clara and Tommy’s Grandfather. Nothing seemed to surprise him, nor did he ever seem at a loss of what to do whenever troubles arose.

Yet when Tommy, his face pale from rattled nerves, and Eric, his clothes soaked in mud and river water, came hurrying up the house’s front steps, an uncertain apprehension seized Walther. He opened the door to the house and ushered the two inside.

“What in heaven’s name happened to you both? And where is Frau Clara?” he asked anxiously. He glanced sharply at Eric, awaiting an explanation.

Eric grimaced. “We were…attacked.”

Terror shot through Walther. “Where is Frau Clara?” he repeated.

“They took her!” cried Tommy. “Men on horses, calling her and Eric absurd things, came and took her!” He whirled on Eric. “Who _are_ they? What do they want?” He glanced at Walther and pointed accusingly at Eric. “They _know_ Eric!” He turned back to Eric. “Why do they know you?” He stared up at Eric with pleading eyes, as though begging for Eric to deny it. That he didn’t know these men, that Tommy’s brother-in-law was not mixed up in something terrible and dangerous – something that Clara shouldn’t have been dragged into.

Walther watched Eric closely. “Herr Hoffmann? Did those men know you?”

Eric felt his heart sinking. He had not given much thought to the negative repercussions of deceiving Clara’s family so deeply before. When coming up with the elaborate lie about him being from Boston, he had done so solely to be accepted by Clara’s grandfather. It did not help his guilt now that the decision had been made for rather selfish reasons – so that he could marry Clara. Yes, Clara had known about it and helped him come up with the intricate backstory, but it was still _his_ life he had lied to the Drosselmeyers about. He had even given them a false surname – taken from his royal enchanter, of all people – to make himself blend into Clara’s world better.

And it had worked. Clara’s grandfather had – reluctantly – accepted him. Tommy had come to like him immensely, and even Walther had become rather affectionate with him.

He supposed he knew he was going to have to tell them the truth someday. Or perhaps he had been hoping to keep up the deception indefinitely.

Regardless, he had not wanted it to come out like this.

Eric matched Walther’s gaze. “Yes,” he answered, his voice quiet with shame. “I know them.”

He did not think anything else could have made him feel worse. But the bleak disappointment seeping into Walther’s eyes felt like an extra punch to Eric’s gut.

“It’s not what you think,” Eric said quickly. “This is not because I am involved in anything illegal or dishonest. It’s nothing like that.” He felt rather childish defending himself so vehemently, but he could not bear seeing Walther look at him in such a manner.

“That would not have been my presumption, Herr Hoffmann,” said Walther, his voice gentle. “I know you are not that kind of man. But who else could you possibly know here? You are a long way from home.”

“They’re not from here,” said Eric. “They…honestly, I’m not sure how they got here.”

“Why take Clara?” demanded Tommy, his patience waning. “What does she have to do with any of this?”

“She has nothing to do with it,” Eric said. “They aren’t here for her. They want me.”

“But why?” pressed Tommy.

“Let’s just say that they don’t like my politics.” Eric moved past Walther and Tommy, heading for the staircase that led to Clara’s old bedroom, where he and Clara were staying.

“Where are you going?” Tommy rushed after him.

“I need something to find Clara,” said Eric, not bothering to glance back at them as he ascended the stairs.

“Apparently he has a _special_ umbrella,” Tommy said sarcastically to Walther. He shook his head and bounded up the stairs after Eric, Walther following closely behind. “I think he probably hit his head when he fell into the river, which is why he’s acting so strange. He hasn’t even gone to the police yet.”

“You haven’t spoken with the police?” asked Walther in alarm. He and Tommy hurried through the open doorway of Clara’s bedroom. Eric was kneeling on the floor in front of his traveling trunk. The lid was open, and Eric was rummaging through his clothes, searching for something.

Eric did not reply. He bent further over the trunk, his brow creasing as he dug. His right arm hung limply at his side, and Walther frowned, only now noticing how Eric favored it in the brighter light of Clara’s room.

“Ah!” Eric straightened, pulling out a long black umbrella.

Walther and Tommy knelt beside Eric.

“Well?” asked Tommy, crossing his arms. “What’s so important about this umbrella?”

Eric shook his head. “It’s not an umbrella.”

Tommy threw an exasperated look at Walther. “Told you he hit his head.”

Eric smiled ruefully. “My head is fine.” He glanced at his arm. “My arm though…” Eric placed the umbrella on the floor. Reaching out, he grasped it with his right hand. His face paled at the nauseating pain surging up his arm at the action, but he kept his hold. Then he spoke, his voice strained as he struggled to ignore the burning in his shoulder.

“ _Mend the wound and ease the pain_

_Make it ebb, make it wane.”_

A strange glow emanated from the tip of the umbrella. It rippled down the object, trailing over Eric’s hand before disappearing into the end of the handle. Eric’s arm trembled as the magic passed over it, and he bit back a groan as it worked through his inflamed muscles. Then the umbrella stilled, and Eric released it, falling back on his heels in his crouched position.

“That’s better,” he muttered, massaging his healed arm with his left hand. There was still a faint aching in his shoulder, but it was barely noticeable now. Satisfied at the improvement, Eric glanced up at Tommy and Walther.

Both were staring at Eric with wide eyes. Tommy’s mouth drooped open, and he looked at the umbrella in disbelief.

“What…” Tommy sputtered. “What _is_ that thing?”

Eric gave a weak smile. “A family heirloom.” He picked the umbrella up, balancing it with both hands. “And also what is going to help us find Clara.”

Walther knelt there, stunned, for a long moment. Then he gave himself a shake and nodded briskly. “Very well. If you think this is the best way to find Frau Clara, so be it.” He gave Eric a stern look. “But I expect a complete explanation once this is all over.”

Eric sighed. “I know.” He straightened, setting his jaw in determination as he adjusted the umbrella in his hands. He tightened his grip, willing the magic to work as he spoke.

“ _Mark the path, don’t let it stray_

_Lead me to her, show me the way.”_

The umbrella trembled once again. Then a stream of rose-colored magic flowed from the umbrella’s tip. It glided across Clara’s room to the open door and disappeared into the hallway, continuing to be anchored to the umbrella by one end of magic as the other stretched outwards.

Hope coursed through Eric, and he let out a relieved breath. “It worked.”

Tommy blinked in confusion. “What did?”

Oh. Right. Eric glanced at Tommy. He had forgotten about that detail. “This object was made specifically for my family,” said Eric. “Only those in my bloodline can use it properly. Which means only I can see the magic of this particular spell.”

“Magic?” Tommy squinted at the umbrella. “Where?”

Eric waved at the glowing string that was invisible to everyone but him. “There. It’ll lead me to Clara.”

Tommy gave Eric a doubtful look. “Are you _sure_ you didn’t hit your head?”

“Did you not just see what it did to my arm?”

Tommy let out a humph. “I suppose. But how do you know it’s bringing you to Clara?”

“Everyone has a certain aura to them,” explained Eric. He looked back at the rose-colored magic that was so very distinctly Clara. “This is Clara’s, without a doubt. I can feel it.”

“But you didn’t even say her name,” pointed out Tommy. “How does it know to find _her_?”

“Because I focused on her specifically when saying the incantation.”

“But how do you know for _sure_?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” said Eric in amusement. He stood and helped Walther up.

“That he does,” agreed Walther.

Tommy scowled at the two men.

Eric smiled, then turned to Walther. “She can’t be far. I shouldn’t have too much trouble now. You and Tommy must stay here and –”

“You are _not_ leaving me behind,” snapped Tommy. He pushed himself to his feet, glaring at Eric. “She is my _sister_. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re twelve, Tommy. I am not bringing you along,” said Eric sternly.

“What does it matter how old I am? I can help you. You can’t face all those men by yourself.”

“I’ll manage,” Eric said, raising the umbrella slightly.

“No. You won’t,” said Tommy. “If you’re busy with those men, how are you going to get to Clara at the same time? You can’t do _everything_ by yourself. You need someone with you.”

“I will not be responsible for putting you in danger.”

“You won’t be responsible. This is my decision.”

Eric shook his head. “No. Imagine what your Grandfather would say if he knew I allowed you to come along?”

“Imagine what he’ll say if he comes back and Clara is still missing.”

Eric glared at Tommy. Tommy raised his chin triumphantly, in a manner that vaguely reminded Eric of Clara.

“Leave me behind, and I’ll follow you,” said Tommy. “Either way, I’m going. So you may as well take me along now so you can keep an eye on me.”

Eric looked at Walther desperately. Walther sighed, shaking his head. “Tommy, I cannot allow you to put yourself in harm’s way,” said Walther.

Tommy opened his mouth furiously.

“But,” continued Walther. He turned his attention to Eric. “I am not comfortable with you going after Frau Clara alone, either.” He sighed, frustrated. “If only I was younger, then I would accompany you myself.”

“We don’t have time to debate this,” said Eric in agitation. He frowned, then sighed and pointed harshly at Tommy. “Fine. You can come. But you will do _exactly_ as I say. You follow every order I give you, without question. Do I make myself clear?”

Tommy nodded.

“Good,” snapped Eric. “Now go change out of your formal clothes.” He glanced down at his own ruined clothes, which still wetly clung to his body. “I’ll meet you in the entryway in _five_ minutes. If you aren’t downstairs by then, I’m leaving without you.”

Tommy nodded again, fervently. A twinge of nervousness had crept into his expression at Eric’s tone, as though he was fully realizing the extent of the danger he was volunteering himself for. But determination overcame the fear, and he hurried from the room.

Eric sighed and glanced at Walther. Walther grimaced, trepidation clear on his face.

“I won’t let any harm come to him,” said Eric softly.

Walther gave a solemn nod. “I do not doubt your conviction in that sentiment. I only worry for how well you are able to protect both him _and_ Frau Clara.” He hesitated. “Perhaps we _should_ call the police.”

Eric shook his head. “No. They would only hinder things, and most likely be harmed themselves.” He tightened his grip on the umbrella, guilt washing over his expression. “This is all because of me, Walther. Clara should never have been taken by them.”

Sympathy flickered over Walther’s face, and he rested his hand on Eric’s arm. “Guilt will not help you now. Focus on finding her, and leave the blame for a later time.”

Eric nodded solemnly.

Walther gave Eric a firm pat. “Good. Now hurry up and change out of those clothes, before you catch your death.”

/

They took her to a school not far from the Drosselmeyer’s neighborhood. Clara had immediately recognized it when they had entered its grounds, as it was the same school she had attended as a young girl. It was incredibly strange to find herself back in such a familiar setting, considering that she there now as the hostage of Parthenian men who had kidnapped her.

And possibly murdered her husband.

She closed her eyes against the thought, forcing back tears. No. Eric was not dead. Just because she had not heard him resurface did not mean he wasn’t alive. He could swim, and he would be smart enough to avoid surfacing in view of their attackers.

But he would have to be conscious to do so.

 _Stop it_ , she berated herself. But even then, she could not fully push away the mental image of Eric striking his head against a rock or bridge pillar, condemning him to the mercy of the river.

She yanked against the men gripping her arms, gritting her teeth as she was brought to the school’s orchestra classroom. She was led to the front of the room and forced into a chair facing the conductor’s podium. With no armrests on the chair, her arms were wrenched behind the chair’s back and tied.

“Gently, boys,” said Vogt, watching closely as his men secured Clara. “She is your queen, after all.” He leaned against the railing of the podium casually, emitting an arrogance Clara found highly annoying.

The rope was knotted a final time, and then the men stepped back. Vogt waved at them impatiently. “Why don’t you wait for Bairre and Deaglán to come back? They should be here soon, with – if they aren’t complete idiots – a very much alive king.”

The men nodded, leaving Vogt alone with Clara.

In Vogt’s hands was a knife, which he turned over thoughtfully as he studied Clara. “I do apologize for the bonds, Your Majesty. They were not meant for you.”

She frowned. “No, they were meant for my husband.” The statement was spoken calmly, though rage threaded in the words.

“They were.”

“What do you want from us?” demanded Clara. “Gold? Land?” She twisted her hands vainly against the ropes. “I suppose you feel entitled to such riches, regardless of your treason? Was my husband’s pardon from the executioner’s block not enough?”

“A pardon does little to fill the pockets of a destitute man,” said Vogt. He pointed his knife at Clara. “When your husband exiled us, he thought it was an act of mercy. But what does a man who had once been on the king’s council, in possession of power and riches, do when all of that is taken away? Am I to wander Parthenia like a beggar, reduced to the dullness of the peasants I once towered above? Simply because fate decided to give that idiotic prince a second chance?” He scoffed. “I have wallowed in humiliation and poverty for too long now.”

“When you chose to pledge your allegiance to the Mouse King, you submitted yourself to the consequences that come from treasonous acts,” said Clara darkly.

“I was ever loyal to the king before his death,” snapped Vogt. “He was a good man. A good king. He chose to give his power to Mauscher. By doing so, he had admitted that his son was an ill fit for the throne.” He scowled. “I am loyal to _Parthenia_. I saw that Mauscher could handle affairs far better than the prince ever could, so I aligned myself with the ruler I knew the kingdom needed. How is such an act treason?”

“But Eric was still the heir, regardless of who was temporarily siting on the throne. As a council member, you had a responsibility to both Mauscher _and_ Eric following his father’s death.”

“Did I?” Vogt smiled mockingly. “You have a very naive perception of what shapes loyalty. Yes, I was loyal to Mauscher partly because I had a stronger faith in his abilities. But –” He shrugged. “I cannot deny that he also promised to make our allegiance _very_ worth our while.”

“So it really is all about the money then,” Clara said in disgust.

“Of course not. What an incredibly dull sentiment. Retribution has always been a part of this as well – for the shame your husband set upon us by forcing us from Parthenia.” His expression took on a sinister edge. “And justice can be dealt in such wonderfully diverse ways.” He ran his thumb over the tip of his knife. “Once the ransom was paid, we were going to give you whatever was left of the king. So there really is no cause for worry; we were fully planning on returning him.”

“Just not alive,” snarled Clara.

“Well that depends on him,” Vogt said casually. “After all, pain tolerance varies widely from person to person.”

“Rather barbaric for someone who was once a lord and royal councilman.” Clara raised her chin, hoping to look like the regal queen she was supposed to be. But hearing Vogt’s intentions for Eric had shaken her nerves severely, and she wondered how obvious her fear really was.

Vogt shrugged.

There was a knock at the classroom door, and it opened to reveal two men Clara recognized from the attack on the bridge.

Vogt turned, looking annoyed by the interruption. Upon seeing the men, anticipation lit up his face. “I was wondering when you two would get here.” He frowned. “Where is the king? He’s alive, is he not?”

The taller of the two men, whom Clara noticed was clutching a bleeding arm, shuffled nervously. “He’s alive,” he confirmed, the answer hesitant.

Clara let out a shaky gasp of relief. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she couldn’t help the upwards curve of her trembling lips. _He’s alive_. The phrase echoed in her mind, blanketing her fears with desperately needed hope.

Vogt cast a glance at Clara, then focused back on the men. “Then where is he?”

The wounded man pressed his lips together. “He…he got away.”

Clara struggled to hold back a happy sob. He was alright. He was _free_.

Anger flashed in Vogt’s eyes briefly. He fell quiet as he pondered the news. “No matter,” he finally said. “He’ll find his way here regardless.”

“How do you know?” asked the shorter man.

Vogt waved his knife at Clara. “He’ll come for her. It should not take long, as I’m assuming he brought the scepter.” He raised his eyebrows at Clara. “Did he not?”

Clara remained silent.

Vogt smirked. “Of course he did.” He turned back to the men. “He’ll be here. Watch for him.” Vogt’s gaze fell upon the man’s bleeding arm, and he barked out a laugh. “Seems he got the better of you before escaping, did he?”

The man scowled.

Amused, Vogt waved at the men. “Leave us.”

Then men obediently left, and Vogt twisted back around to face Clara once again.

Though relieved at hearing of Eric’s escape, Clara could not help the fear plaguing her as she held Vogt’s gaze. His plans for Eric seared her thoughts, making her feel sick at the mere possibility of Vogt succeeding in them.

Vogt’s gaze traveled over her thoughtfully. “Maybe we should ransom just _you_ to Eric,” he mused. “It certainly would be the easier plan, and I’m sure your king will pay plenty for you.” He tapped his knife against his chin. “Though that doesn’t have quite the same satisfaction.” He gave a firm nod, as though deciding. “We shall wait for your husband to come. Once we have him, we shall contact whomever you’ve left in charge of Parthenia’s affairs during your absence. They will pay a more than agreeable sum for you. And their king’s body.”

A cold dread seized Clara. She opened her mouth, but she had no idea what she was planning to say. A defiant retort? A plea for mercy? She shook her head, blinking back tears.

Vogt pushed himself away from the podium and strode forward. He stopped in front of Clara and tilted his head, taking in her disheveled appearance. Reaching out with the knife, he flicked a loose strand of her hair over her shoulder with the blade. Clara flinched, then turned her head away from him, tightening her jaw.

He chuckled. “I must admit, you weren’t what I was expecting. I always thought he would wed some witless girl as useless as he.”

Clara gritted her teeth, refusing to respond.

Vogt pulled the knife away and slipped it back into the sheath on his belt. “But you need not worry; I will not harm you.” He turned away from Clara and walked to the door. “Do not fret, Your Majesty – you shall see your husband soon enough.”

He locked the door behind him, leaving Clara alone in the empty room.


	22. Gas Light Part IV

“Why did those men call you ‘Your Majesty’?” asked Tommy.

Eric grimaced. He tightened his hand around the umbrella, which he held against his hip. The magic igniting Clara’s aura continued to stream from the umbrella, providing a glowing pathway for Eric and Tommy to follow as they wound through the near-empty streets of the neighborhood. The few people they did pass barely cast them a glance, though Eric was careful to keep him and Tommy in the shadows of the overarching rooftops.

“Well?” prompted Tommy.

Eric let out a sigh. “Because, even though they probably meant it as an insult, it’s technically the correct term to address me with.”

Tommy slowed, staring at Eric. His brow creased as he studied Eric, trying to discern whether Eric was joking or not. Seeing the truth in Eric’s expression only deepened the confusion in Tommy’s eyes. “You…you’re serious?”

Eric glanced warily at Tommy. “I told you they didn’t like my politics.”

Tommy’s mouth gaped open. “I thought you were joking! Or maybe it was something to do with an old case of yours.”

If Vogt and his men hadn’t addressed Eric and Clara with their royal titles, Eric probably could have passed off the attack for that very reason: disgruntled men that had been sentenced to prison time because of Eric’s work. For as far as the Drosselmeyers knew, Eric was a lawyer in Boston.

“Technically, I _do_ work with the law,” pointed out Eric weakly.

Tommy gave Eric and exasperated look. “But…so…” He waved his hand, as though building up the nerve to ask such a ridiculous question. “Are you really royalty?”

Eric shifted the umbrella in his hand, reluctant to answer. “Yes.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. “Wait…since Clara is married to you, what does make _her_?”

Despite his anxiety for Clara, Eric could not help a small smile at that. “They were addressing her correctly too.” He cast a quick glance at Tommy, and held back a laugh at the expression on the boy’s face.

At a loss for a reply, Tommy quietly stared ahead of them as he digested this new information. “So you’re not American,” he finally said.

“No.”

“I can’t believe you and Clara duped Grandfather for so long,” Tommy said in a hushed voice, both terrified and awed that they had done so.

Eric grimaced, nervous at the mention of Herr Drosselmeyer. Perhaps, after this was over, he and Clara could convince Tommy to keep their secret, if only for a little while longer.

“So do you live in a castle? Do you have thousands of servants? Do you have an army? Do you have a treasure room full of gold?” The questions came spewing out of Tommy at an alarmingly fast rate, his disbelief quickly turning into awed excitement.

“ _Hush_ , Tommy,” Eric hissed, glancing about them anxiously. He pressed a hand to Tommy’s back, urging him along gently. “We need to focus on finding Clara. I’ll answer your questions later.”

Tommy sobered, guilt flickering in his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered. Fear seeped back into his expression. “They won’t…” He swallowed. “They won’t hurt her, right?”

Eric squeezed Tommy’s shoulder. “No.” Truthfully, it was more a statement of desperate hope then true certainty. But he wasn’t about to tell Tommy that. “No, she’s only the bait. I’m who they want.”

“But why? Why are they after you?”

Eric exhaled wearily. “The man who spoke to us on the bridge, Johan Vogt, had been a councilman for my father. After my father died, Vogt’s loyalties…shifted. He was punished for treason.” He tightened his jaw. “Obviously, he did not take well to exile.”

“Who are the others? Are they all traitors?”

“I only recognized a few of them. The others are likely just men Vogt paid to work for him.”

Tommy pressed his lips together, thinking. Then he set his jaw fiercely. “Well, they can’t have Clara.”

“No.” Eric gave Tommy a small smile, pride flowing through him at the boys conviction. “No, they can’t.”

A moment of silence passed. “I wish I had a better weapon, though,” Tommy grumbled.

Eric gestured to Tommy’s pockets, which were bulging from objects stuffed into them. “Are those not good enough?”

“They’re distractions, not _weapons_.” Tommy glanced at the pistol hanging from Eric’s belt with a hopeful expression.

Eric looked down at the pistol. It was Herr Drosselmeyer’s, though Eric doubted the man had ever shot it in his life. Walther had given it to him before they left the house, after Eric had confirmed that he knew how to use one.

Eric’s father had amassed a small collection of weapons from Clara’s world during his travels, consisting of rifles, pistols, and swords from various countries. They were mainly for display, though Eric’s father had finally given into son’s begging and shown him how to shoot and clean the guns when Eric was fourteen.

The pistol felt incredibly heavy beneath Tommy’s gaze. “You are not using the pistol, Tommy.”

Tommy sighed. “But you have your umbrella…thing. What if I need it?”

“You won’t, as you will not be going anywhere near those men,” said Eric sternly. “As we agreed. Once we find Clara, your sole concern is getting out. What I gave you should be more than enough to do the job.” He gave Tommy a doubtful glance. “Do you even know how to use a pistol?”

“I can _learn_ ,” scowled Tommy. “I’m sure it’s not hard to shoot one.”

Eric frowned. “If you’re aiming at a _human_ it most certainly is.”

Tommy looked uncomfortable at that.

Eric gave Tommy’s shoulder a pat. “Let’s just focus on finding Clara, alright?”

Tommy nodded.

They fell quiet, and Eric concentrated on the rose-colored magic streaming out before them. His heart ached at the familiarity of Clara’s presence the magic provided, and he quickened his pace, wishing only to close the distance between them.

_Please be alright._

/

Clara twisted her arms against the ropes securing her, fury at her capture mingling with desperation to escape. Not for herself – she could sense the truth in Vogt’s promise to not harm her. But if she did not escape, Eric would undoubtedly come for her – and fall right into Vogt’s hands.

She knew Eric would be aware that this was a trap. But she had no desire to indulge even the smallest possibility of him being captured. She had to get out, before the scepter led Eric here.

The ropes dug into Clara’s skin as she pulled at them, and she gritted her teeth at the burning sensation. Weary from her efforts, she slouched against the back of the chair.

 _Come on, Clara_ , she scolded herself. _Think._

Then she blinked. She had _magic_. Granted, she wasn’t exactly sure what kind of magic, and what the limits of it were. After all, it wasn’t like she had anyone to explain it to her. But she was the _Sugar Plum Princess._ Surely that counted for something.

But how could she use it now? She had only broken curses with it before. Rope wasn’t a curse, and she highly doubted _kissing_ it would do it any good – which wasn’t possible anyway, tied as she was.

Perhaps she could somehow… _manipulate_ it into loosening. But how? Clara let out a frustrated sigh. Uncertain as she was, she had to at least try.

She closed her eyes, pushing away worried thoughts of Eric so she could concentrate. She focused solely on the ropes binding her arms – on the scratchy feeling of them on her skin, and how they coiled around her arms, looping into intricate knots.

Keeping her attention on the ropes, she then imagined them growing softer – soft as silk. So soft that they could no longer hold the knots, and would slip through the loops like water.

_Please work. Please work._

Seconds turned into minutes, and Clara snapped her eyes open, gasping for breath. The ropes hadn’t loosened an inch. She gave a cry of frustration, tears of anger welling in her eyes.

 _Try again._ Her thoughts urged. _Do not give up._ It sounded more like Eric’s voice in her mind than her own. A wave of comfort coursed through her at that, and she inhaled deeply.

_Try again._

She closed her eyes once more.

_Soft as silk. Fluid as water._

Was she imagining it, or were the ropes no longer as coarse as they had been? She strained her arms against them, willing them to move.

_Soft as silk. Fluid as water._

The ropes slackened slightly. Clara gave an exhilarated gasp, but she did not open her eyes.

_Concentrate._

The ropes moved again, loosening even more.

_Soft as silk. Fluid as water._

The ropes rippled apart like ribbons being tugged free. Clara lurched forward in the chair from the release of pressure she had been straining against, and the ropes fluttered to the floor, as weightless as if they were tissue paper. Clara pushed herself out of the chair, grappling for the conductor podium to steady herself as her legs sought balance.

She was free. _She was free_.

Clara laughed shakily, amazed at her success. Her heart beat wildly, though Clara wasn’t sure if it was from the effort of trying to free herself, or from the use of her usually dormant magic. She breathed in long, slow breaths, forcing herself to calm. Once her trembling had subsided, she stepped back from the podium, glancing about the room.

Her heart sunk as she realized the uselessness of freeing herself from the chair. She was still trapped, and there was likely at least one man guarding the room’s locked door. Clara’s gaze flickered to the back wall of the classroom, along which was a row of windows. The windows did not line an outer wall of the school, but instead looked into another hallway. But, if Clara remembered correctly, it was a different hallway from the one the door was connected to.

She moved cautiously to the row of windows. It was hard to see through them, as there were no lights in the hallway beyond the glass. But that only sparked hope within Clara – it seemed as though the hallway was empty. She ran her fingers along the frame of the window, hoping to find a latch of some sort. Unsurprisingly, there were none. The glass had been set permanently into the frames.

Clara sucked in a nervous breath. She would have to do this quickly. She glanced down at her evening gown, wishing she was not wearing such a cumbersome dress. But there was little she could do about it. She turned and reached for a nearby chair, grasping it in both hands. Hoisting it up as high as she could, she adjusted it, aiming it at the window. Then she swung it forward.

There was a loud shatter as the window broke, and shards of glass rained onto the classroom floor. Clara staggered back, letting the chair fall from her hands with a clatter.

Muffled shouting could be heard from the other side of the classroom door. Clara hurriedly swung a leg over the side of the window frame and pushed herself through, dropping to the floor of the hallway. Her dress caught on the glass, but she yanked it free, uncaring as the fabric ripped loudly beneath her frantic movements.

The door to the classroom burst open. Clara twisted around to watch as two men ran inside, alarm on their faces as they glanced about wildly. They matched gazes with Clara for only a moment – and then she burst into a run, disappearing down the dark hallway. Their cries echoed after her, urging Clara to hasten. She gathered her skirt up in her arms as she ran, and hurried up a narrow staircase.

The staircase opened up onto a hallway lined with classrooms. Clara raced down it, searching desperately for an escape route. Behind her, she could hear the men ascending the staircase she had come up. Out of options, Clara ran into a classroom and slammed the door shut behind her.

She grabbed a chair and shoved it beneath the door handle. Knowing that that would not hold for long, she rushed to the windows lining the far wall of the classroom. Pushing one open, she leaned out of it – and grimaced at the sight.

She was two stories above the ground, and there was nothing below to break her fall beyond the pavestones of a passing sidewalk.

Clara ducked back inside and glanced about frantically for something to use as a rope. The door to the classroom shook as something collided with it, making Clara jump.

“Open up!” ordered a voice.

With nothing else to use as a weapon, Clara yanked out another pin from her hair.

A second kick thudded against the door. The chair flew out from beneath the door handle, skidding across the floor. The door swung open, and the two men rushed inside.

“Don’t!” cried Clara. “Stay back!” She thrust her hairpin towards the man to reach her first, but he caught her wrist, stopping the attack. Yanking the hairpin free, he tossed it aside with a sound of disgust. The second man grabbed her other arm, and together the men restrained her.

There were more approaching footsteps, and then Vogt raced into the classroom, two men close behind him. Vogt slowed upon entering, and he came to a stop in front of Clara.

“Well,” Vogt said breathlessly. “You certainly are far more trouble than I thought you would be.” A combination of admiration and annoyance mingled in his eyes. His gaze flickered to the hairpin on the floor. “Did she stab either of you?”

The one who had taken the hairpin shook his head. “She tried, though.”

Vogt pressed his lips together. “I suppose we should have relieved her of the rest of them when we brought her here. Fortunately, that is a mistake that can be easily remedied.” He raised his hands to Clara’s hair.

“Do not _touch_ me,” snarled Clara. She twisted roughly against the men holding her, desperate to keep distance between her and Vogt.

Ignoring her, Vogt reached up and yanked the final pins from Clara’s hair. Her hair tumbled down her back and over her shoulders as it was freed, and Clara cringed, somehow feeling more exposed than before, with her hair now so informal.

Vogt gave Clara a sharp look as he pocketed the pins. “Hopefully you’ll be a bit more civilized now.” He raised a finger in warning. “If you continue to show such ingratitude for our hospitality, I will be sure that your husband suffers for it.”

“You should have remained in exile.” Clara voice trembled with rage – and terror at the threat. “Eric will have little mercy for you now.”

Vogt gave a harsh laugh. “What can that boy possibly do against me? He is but a child, struggling to mask himself with the guise of a crown he is unworthy for. I, on the other hand…”

The sound of scuttling arose from the walls. Clara looked about in confusion, then her eyes widened in horror as dozens of mice poured out from a mousehole. They scampered across the floor and circled Clara, Vogt, and his men. The mice ran between their legs, scurrying over their feet as they squeaked loudly. Clara squirmed as the rodents brushed against her, and she bit her lip to hold back a cry of revulsion.

“I learned a few tricks of my own while in exile,” said Vogt proudly.

“Having an army of mice is not impressive,” Clara snapped. “It is disgusting.”

Vogt looked amused by her insult. “ _They_ are not a conjuring of mine. They are simply a side effect of the true magic I’ve learned.”

“Such as?” challenged Clara.

“World traveling, most importantly.”

Clara’s mouth dipped into a frown. “Must be a dark form of traveling, to have such creatures lingering in your shadow.”

Vogt shrugged. “Perhaps. But when one is exempt from the magic of Parthenia, the choices of where to learn such talents are rather limited.”

Alarm seized Clara. “Mauscher did not teach you this? Who did, then?”

Vogt smirked and wagged a finger at Clara. “It’s never wise to freely tell one’s secrets,” he said playfully.

“My lord.”

Vogt turned at the new voice. One of the men who had attempted to retrieve Eric from the river stood in the doorway. His arm was bandaged now, though some of the blood had seeped through, staining the cloth red.

“What is it, Deaglán?” snapped Vogt.

“It’s the king,” said Deaglán. “He just entered the school grounds.”

A pang of hope sparked within Clara, along with dread at what’s Eric presence here meant for his own safety.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Vogt asked, unable to keep the anticipation out of his voice.

Deaglán nodded. “Your spell picked up the vibrations of the scepter, just as you said they would.”

“Excellent,” said Vogt. He looked back at Clara smugly. “Another wonderful trick I’ve learned. A spell that can sense the magical vibrations of other magical objects. Extremely useful, as you can see.” He waved impatiently at Deaglán. “Go on. The queen and I will follow you shortly.”

Looking disturbingly eager at the order, Deaglán turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Vogt gestured at the men holding Clara. “Bring her. I don’t want her to miss a thing.”

The men pushed Clara forward. She yanked futilely against their hands, glaring at Vogt.

But Vogt only laughed. He strode towards the doorway, glancing back to be sure Clara and the men were following. “Come on boys – let us catch a king.”

/

“The school?” Tommy blinked in surprise. “They took her to the school?”

Eric looked more closely at the building. It was a surprisingly large school, with three stories to its height and an elegant influence of neoclassicism to its architecture, as shown by the pillars on either side of the school’s front entrance. An iron fence bordered the school grounds, though it wasn’t very high.

It looked completely still. Eric and Tommy could see no people walking past the windows lining the front wall of the school, nor could they spot any lights lit from inside the building.

Eric frowned, tapping his finger against the umbrella thoughtfully. “Hm.”

“ _Hm_?” repeated Tommy. “Don’t you have a plan?”

Eric tilted his head in a shrugging manner. “Somewhat.” He gestured for Tommy to step closer, so that they were both hidden within the shadows of the alleyway they were standing in. “Hold still,” instructed Eric. He raised the umbrella. “And take this with one hand.”

Tommy hesitated. “Why?”

“You want to get in there unseen, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Eric tilted the umbrella towards him. “Go on then.”

His expression doubtful, Tommy reached out and grasped the umbrella, gripping it just above Eric’s hand. Eric gave a nod to Tommy, and then spoke an incantation in a low voice.

“ _Take our bodies and wipe them clean_

 _Let us wander the earth undetected and unseen._ ”

Tommy released a cry at the sensation of magic rippling over him, barely remembering to hang onto the umbrella in his shock. A moment passed, and then Eric spoke. “Alright, you can let go.”

Tommy did so, then looked down. “Where’s my hand?” he exclaimed. He tilted his head down farther to examine the rest of his body – only to see nothing. “Where’s the rest of me?” He stumbled back against the wall of the alley, breathing hard. “Saints above, Grandfather is going to be so mad…what have we done…this is insane…”

“Tommy, calm down,” said Eric, careful to keep his tone level so as not to heighten Tommy’s panic. “It’s merely a cloaking spell, to blend us into the environment. To camouflage us, like those lizards you have in this world. A…what’s the name…”

“A chameleon?” squeaked Tommy.

“ _Yes_ ,” said Eric. “Exactly. It’s nothing more than that. I promise, it’s only temporary.”

“Temporary,” repeated Tommy, his voice still unnaturally high. “Right. Of course.”

Eric began to give Tommy a reassuring smile, but then he realized that Tommy wouldn’t see it anyway. “Good,” he said instead. “You’re doing fine. Are you ready?”

Tommy stared down at where his body should be, but wasn’t. “Um.” He glanced back at the school. “Sure. Yes. Definitely.”

Eric reached for Tommy’s arm. He swiped out blindly for a moment, then clamped down on the boy’s shoulder. Tommy gave a yelp and jumped beneath Eric’s touch.

“It’s just me,” said Eric. “I don’t want to lose you, so stay close.”

Tommy nodded. “Sure.” He fumbled through the air and grasped Eric’s sleeve tightly.

Satisfied that they wouldn’t lose each other, Eric led Tommy out of the alleyway. They crossed the empty street easily, heading towards the school gates. Then Eric abruptly turned left, moving them away from the entrance. “This way,” whispered Eric. They walked some ways down the gate until Eric finally tugged Tommy to a stop.

“There’s no entrance here,” Tommy hissed.

Eric raised the umbrella. “Exactly. Hopefully this part of the gate isn’t being watched.” He tapped the umbrella against the bars.

“ _Seize the iron and ebb its strength_

 _Make it bend and fluid in its length._ ”

The iron bars surrounding the umbrella rippled, like water beneath a hand’s touch. Eric reached out and grasped each of the two iron bars, pulling them away from each other. They bent easily, stretching apart until there was a wide enough space for Eric and Tommy to fit through.

“Let’s go,” said Eric. He slipped through the gate, and turned to help Tommy step onto the grassy grounds surrounding the school.

Suddenly, a cold trickling sensation coursed through both of them. Tommy gasped at the strange feeling and clutched tighter to Eric’s sleeve. “Are you doing that?”

“No,” muttered Eric darkly. “That’s not my magic. It’s an interference spell of some sort.” Anxiety nipped at him, and he pulled Tommy towards a side entrance door to the school. “We need to get inside.”

The door was unlocked, though that was little comfort. If anything, Eric saw it as a rather sinister invitation. Yet they had little options, so he led Tommy through it anyway. Once they were inside, Eric dissipated the cloaking spell covering him and Tommy.

Tommy gasped in relief as his body rippled back into sight, and he patted at his chest to reassure himself that it was indeed there. He looked up at Eric nervously. “That spell out there…they know we’re here, don’t they? It was some sort of warning for them.”

Eric’s stomach twisted. “Yes.” Looking down at the umbrella, Eric grasped it with both hands. He muttered something under his breath, and the umbrella shuddered. A layer of magic rolled over it, stripping the illusion away to reveal a golden scepter.

Tommy stared at the scepter in fascination. “So _that’s_ what the umbrella really is?”

Eric nodded. “There’s no point in hiding it now; it’s fairly well-known where I’m from.” He gave a hopeful shrug. “Some of Vogt’s men might recognize it and have second thoughts about attacking us, as its power isn’t exactly a secret to Parthenians.”

“Parthenians?”

Eric lowered the scepter and started down the hallway. “Come on.”

Tommy opened his mouth to repeat himself, but then thought better of bombarding Eric with questions at the moment. Snapping his mouth shut, he hurried after Eric.


	23. Gas Light Part V

No longer occupied with casting other spells, the scepter emitted the rose-colored magic of Clara’s aura once again, leading Eric and Tommy through the school. The two moved as quietly as possible, listening intently for the sounds of approaching footsteps. But they continued on unhindered, weaving past empty rooms until turning down a more narrow hallway.

Lining the left wall was a row of windows. The middle one was shattered, revealing an orchestra classroom, which was disarrayed with overturned chairs and music stands.

A chill ran down the back of Eric’s neck at the sight. He approached the window cautiously, cringing as shards of glass crunched loudly beneath his feet. Tommy followed, his eyes widening in fear.

“Clara?” hissed Tommy. He leaned forward, peering into the dimly lit classroom.

The scepter vibrated faintly in Eric’s hand, as though in warning. He spun around, and caught sight of a man standing at the end of the hallway. A revolver was in his outstretched hand.

Eric had a brief moment of recognition: the man was the same one who had threatened him beneath the bridge. But the thought barely registered in his mind before he whirled around, shoving Tommy away from the window. Eric threw himself to the side, flinching as a shot rang loudly throughout the hallway. A piece of the broken window frame shattered as the bullet struck it, sending bits of wood flying.

“Into the classroom!” commanded Eric. He pushed Tommy through the window, then launched himself over the window sill. Another shot rang out, and a bullet flew through the open window to embed itself into the back of a classroom chair.

“Come now, Your Majesty,” laughed the man. “Don’t you want to see your queen?”

Eric gritted his teeth, rage thundering in his chest. He pulled Tommy low to the floor, and together they moved away from the window. Glancing about, Eric noticed a grand piano not far from him and Tommy. He nudged Tommy, nodding towards the instrument. Tommy immediately began crawling towards it, and Eric turned to watch their attacker peer through the window.

The man easily spotted Eric, despite the low lighting. A cruel smile curved his lips, and he raised the revolver. “Come along now, Your Majesty,” he cajoled mockingly. “It’s time to pay your due.”

Eric pointed the scepter at the man. “You’ll have to shoot me first. And I doubt Vogt will be pleased with you if that happens.”

The man raised an eyebrow, smirking. “There are many places a man can be shot that are not fatal. If you prefer to be dragged bleeding to Vogt, I will happily oblige.” He cocked the revolver.

“I wonder at how good your aim is,” snapped Eric. He edged towards the piano. “How long have you Pathenian men been using those revolvers, anyway?”

The man chuckled. “We’ve been biding our time in this world for a lot longer than you realize.” His finger twitched towards the trigger.

Eric threw himself into a roll beneath the piano, barely missing the bullet as it shot into the spot he had been crouched over. He scrambled to Tommy, who was huddled beneath the piano bench.

“You alright?” muttered Eric.

Tommy nodded frantically. Then his face brightened in realization, and his hand twitched towards his pocket.

“Not yet.” Eric shook his head.

There was the sound of more footsteps, and Eric peeked out from behind the piano to watch as two more men crawled through the window. They moved to the first man’s side, drawing their own revolvers.

“Enough games,” said the first man impatiently. “Come out.”

Eric ducked back behind the piano, his voice low as he spoke to Tommy. “When I move, use the ginger drops to cover yourself. Run for the classroom door. Do _not_ throw the drops at the men – I need to be able to see them.”

Tommy gave a determined nod. He shoved his hand into his pocket and drew out two ginger drops. They glowed faintly, humming with the spell Eric had cast upon them.

Eric twisted the scepter in his hands, muttering the needed incantation quickly.

“ _Coil the rope and cease their crime_

_Bind their limbs, hold fast against time.”_

He felt the scepter thrum in response and shot to his feet, spinning around to face their attackers. Surprise flashed over the men’s faces at Eric’s sudden appearance, but they quickly recovered and readjusted their aim to him. Eric arched his arm forward, thrusting the scepter out. Ropes flew from the scepter, soaring across the room to wrap around the arms and legs of the man who had originally stumbled upon Eric and Tommy.

At the same moment, Tommy dashed out from behind the piano and threw one of the ginger drops to the ground. The ginger drop exploded upon striking the wooden floorboards, releasing a cloud of dusky orange smoke that shielded Tommy from the view of the men.

The man closest to Tommy cried out in alarm at the sudden explosion, and he fired blindly in Tommy’s direction. Eric snapped the scepter at the man, securing him. Tommy threw the second ginger drop, providing himself with a second cloud to hide behind as he ran to the classroom door and dashed through it, disappearing into the hallway.

The remaining man fired, using Eric’s distraction of protecting Tommy to get a clear shot. But the second ginger drop explosion made him jump, and the shot went wild, going into the wall behind Eric. Eric swung the scepter back at the man, and a moment later the man was on the floor with his companions, writhing against the ropes binding him.

Breathing heavily, Eric crept out from behind the piano. He glanced worriedly at the classroom door, which was hazy from the dissipating ginger cloud.

“Tommy?” called Eric. He ran into the hallway.

Tommy was nowhere in sight. Unsettled by the silence, Eric moved further away from the classroom, hoping that Tommy had found a secure place to hide. He glanced at the scepter. It was glowing with Clara’s aura once again, trailing off down the left end of the hallway. Eric stood there for a moment, conflicted on whether to pursue Clara, or search for Tommy.

But where would he even begin to look for Tommy? Eric frowned, studying the magic streaming from the scepter. It was a fair bet that Tommy was safe and in hiding. But if Tommy _had_ been captured, he would likely be taken to where Clara was. His decision made, Eric turned left and broke into a run.

Eventually, he was led to a set of double doors. Eric pushed through them, then skidded to a stop in surprise.

He was in the school’s theatre auditorium. It was much smaller than a regular theatre, but it was still large each to fit at least a couple hundred people. Dozens of rows of seats arched in lines before him, curving down to the stage, before which was a small orchestra pit. Built into the wall above was a single private theatre box.

The sound of a door opening diverted Eric’s attention to the back of the theatre. Two of Vogt’s men burst through the doorway; upon seeing Eric, they brought up their revolvers. Without hesitation, Eric aimed the scepter at them, easily securing them with the binding spell.

“Your Majesty! How wonderful of you to come!”

Eric jerked his head up at the sudden voice. In the theatre box, which had been empty only seconds before, stood Vogt. Pulled against his chest was Clara, whose hands were tied behind her back.

In Vogt’s hand was a revolver – which was pressed to Clara’s temple. Clara was shaking, but anger blazed through the fear in her eyes, along with a desperate longing meant for Eric as they locked gazes.

Terror flowed through Eric at the sight. He brought the scepter up with a snarl, aiming it at Vogt.

Vogt laughed. “Ah, careful there! Wouldn’t want to hit your lovely queen.”

Eric tightened his grip on the scepter. “Be smart about this, Vogt,” he warned. “Kill her, and there won’t be anything holding me back.”

“Well now, that _is_ a rather violent threat to come from _you_ ,” smirked Vogt. “Tell me, Eric, how exactly did brawling with Mauscher over the throne like beggars fighting for a scrap of food prepare you for the crown? Do you now feel as though you can handle the pressures of being king because of it? Defeating a man who was idiotic enough to curse people with a scepter meant to _protect_ them isn’t much of an accomplishment.”

“Yet you had faith enough in him to follow him into treason,” said Eric in disgust.

Vogt shrugged. “He promised to pay handsomely for our loyalty. I don’t see the stupidity in that.”

“That’s what this is about then? The money Mauscher should have paid you?”

“But couldn’t once _you_ got rid of him? That is part of it.” Vogt sneered at Eric. “The humiliation we had to endure because of your sentencing is the other.”

“I spared your life,” ground out Eric.

Vogt scoffed. “Then you are a fool, for I will not have the same leniency with _you_.”

Eric’s gaze flickered back to Clara, and he frowned in concern. Clara’s eyed were closed, and her head was bowed slightly. An expression of heavy concentration was on her face. Vogt noticed Eric’s refocused attention, and he followed it to look down at Clara.

“Clara?” asked Eric nervously.

Vogt gave Clara a rough shake. Her brow creased, but she did not open her eyes. “What is this? Is this some kind of trick?” he demanded. He shook Clara again, then pressed the revolver harder against her head. “Open your eyes!” he ordered.

A brief second of tension passed. Then Vogt gave a cry of pain and jerked the pistol away from Clara, letting it fall from his grasp to the floor of the theatre box. She stumbled forward as Vogt released her, and her eyes snapped open, only to widen in fear as she slammed into the balcony railing. Vogt lunged forward, grabbing for Clara to secure her once again. Clara twisted around, attempting to push Vogt away in spite of her bond hands.

Eric ran forward, muttering an incantation under his breath.

Alarm flashed over Vogt’s face as Eric raised the scepter. He glanced at back Clara, whose arms he now gripped tightly. He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then gave Clara a single, hard shove – pushing her over the side of the balcony. Clara let out a cry of terror, unable to do anything but fall towards the floor below.

“No!” shouted Eric. He raised the scepter higher. A flash of golden magic burst from it, enveloping Clara in its glow and slowing her fall. Eric rushed forward, catching her as the magic gently dropped her into his arms.

“Clara… _Clara_ …” Eric gasped in relief. He moved to set her down, but he felt the scepter vibrate in warning. He glanced up to see Vogt leaning over the balcony railing, his revolver aimed at them.

Eric threw himself and Clara to the side as a shot rang out, narrowly avoiding the bullet that embedded into the seat Eric had been standing in front of. With Clara still in his arms, Eric ducked beneath the theatre box, where they were completely shielded from Vogt’s view.

Safe for the moment, Eric set Clara down and hastily untied her hands. Once she was free he pulled her into a desperate embrace. “ _Clara_ …” He pressed a frantic kiss to Clara’s temple and lips, then moved back to examine her. “What did he do to you?” he demanded, his voice shaking with anger – and fear of her answer. “Did he hurt you?”

Clara shook her head, tears in her eyes. “No, no he didn’t hurt me.” She drew him close, burying her face in the crook of his neck. “You’re _alright_ ,” she sobbed. “Vogt, he threatened _terrible_ things…”

At the mention of Vogt, Eric moved them further beneath the balcony, listening for sounds of the man’s approach. Vogt undoubtedly had left the theatre box by now, and would be descending the stairs to the main theatre level. Keeping one arm around Clara, Eric adjusted the scepter in his hands. Clara looped her arm around Eric’s waist, then glanced down at the pistol hanging from his belt. She pulled it free and cocked it, grateful that Eric had already loaded it.

Eric had taught her how to shoot a few of the pistols his father had collected, but she had not practiced much, and she wasn’t sure her aim would be enough to protect them effectively. It did not help her nerves to know that, unlike Vogt’s revolver, she only had one shot to fire before the pistol would need to be reloaded. Gritting her teeth, she forced her hand to steady and aimed the pistol at the door that opened to the theatre box’s staircase.

Eric glanced at the orchestra pit in front of the stage. “Come on,” he muttered, pulling her towards the pit.

The side door slammed open, and Clara shouted Eric’s name in warning. Eric snapped his head around to see Vogt rush into the auditorium, rage on his face. He spun towards Eric and Clara and raised his revolver, firing.

Eric yanked Clara into the theatre seats, pulling her to the floor as bullets tore at the cushions above their heads. Eric tucked Clara beneath his body, covering her as they edged towards the center aisle running between the rows.

The firing ceased, the ring of the final shot echoing throughout the auditorium. Eric looked cautiously over the seats. Vogt was still storming towards them, but he tossed aside the now-empty revolver, not bothering to reload it. Instead, he reached for a second revolver hanging from his belt.

“Don’t be a fool, Eric,” he shouted. “All of this hiding will only get your wife hurt. And that would be such an unnecessary waste.”

Knowing the brief reprieve in the attack would be over soon, Eric tugged Clara upright, and together they dashed for the stage. Vogt raised the second revolver, firing again. Clara screamed as a bullet smashed into the wooden back of a chair she ran past, and Eric pushed her ahead of him. They jumped into the orchestra pit, tumbling to the floor of it clumsily.

Clara rolled into Eric’s side with bruising hardness as they landed, and he grunted at the impact, the scepter falling from his hand as he caught Clara against him. They began to untangle themselves from each other, but froze as a bullet struck the floor directly in front of them.

“Really, you two,” tutted Vogt. “You are making this _far_ more difficult than it needs to be.”

Eric and Clara raised their heads to the edge of the orchestra pit. Vogt stood above them, his revolver aimed at Eric. Looking flustered, yet triumphant, Vogt gestured for Eric and Clara to stand.

“Get up,” he instructed harshly. “Leave the scepter and pistol where they are, though.”

Eric glanced longingly at the scepter, which still lay within reach. But the thought of endangering Clara to grab for it made the idea impossible to entertain, and he slowly stood along with Clara. Cautious in her movements, Clara moved so that she was standing directly in front of Eric. Eric tried to push her aside, but she stood her ground, reaching behind to grasp his arm.

“Please, Vogt,” she implored. “Please, leave him be. You’re angry, and feel as though you are owed for what you endured in exile. I understand that. But to _murder_?” She tightened her grip on Eric. “Surely this is not the man you truly are.”

Vogt gave a harsh laugh. “What do you know of the kind of man I am? You know nothing of who I was before my exile, and have little to base your hope on now.” He gave the revolver a warning shake. “Move aside. I should hate to harm you.”

“Like you would have had Eric not caught me from the balcony,” snapped Clara.

Vogt tightened his jaw. “I needed a distraction. It was an undesired action on my part, and I had hoped Eric would not be so useless that he couldn’t catch you. Fortunately, I was correct. Be grateful that I continue to try to abstain you from harm. _Step aside._ ”

“If I refuse and you shoot me, what happens to your ransom?” challenged Clara. “What good will a dead king and queen be to you?”

Vogt snorted. “I will not kill you. But injuring you to get to your husband is something I will do if I must.”

Eric once again tried to push Clara behind him. “Clara, _move_ ,” he hissed.

“No,” said Clara tightly.

Vogt sighed. “Very well, then.”

Before Eric or Clara could react, something came flying down between the three of them. There was the faint click of something hard hitting the floor of the orchestra pit, and then a cloud of orange smoke exploded near where Vogt was standing. Vogt stumbled back with a cry, throwing up his arm to shield himself from the blast.

Eric snapped his head up, and relief soared through him. Tommy, looking unharmed and intently determined, was crouched over the edge of the catwalk above the stage. He dug into his pocket once more, searching for another ginger drop. Then his eyes widened, and he pointed frantically. “Look out!” he cried.

Vogt  jumped through the cloud, landing with a hard thud onto the floor of the orchestra pit. Eric wrapped his arm around Clara, wrenching her behind him as they stumbled back. Eric stooped, snatching up the scepter as Vogt pulled the trigger of the revolver once more – only to hear the click of a jammed bullet. Snarling in frustration, Vogt tossed aside the weapon and yanked free the knife from his belt.

Vogt lunged at the two, fury contorting his features. With not enough time to proper cast a spell, Eric swung the scepter outwards, striking Vogt in the side hard enough to send him staggering. Vogt grasped the end of the scepter and yanked it harshly, dragging Eric forward. His movements swift, Vogt swiped the knife upwards. Eric lurched back, but the blade sliced along his forearm, eliciting a hiss of pain from him.

A mad sort of victory lit in Vogt’s eyes, and he raised the knife once more. Then a second ginger cloud exploded beside the two men, sending them sprawling. The scepter rolled away, and the knife clattered to the floor. Vogt threw himself at the knife, but Eric kicked it away. Snarling, Vogt made to jump at Eric. But then something hard pressed into the back of Vogt’s head, making him freeze.

Fury was etched into Clara’s features, giving her a ferocity Eric had never seen on her before. Her shoulders were trembling, but the hand holding the pistol to Vogt’s  head was steady.

“Do _not_ move,” warned Clara. Fear drowned the blue of her eyes, and she stared at the pistol in terror at the mere prospect of having to pull the trigger. Yet she did not lower the weapon.

Vogt curled his hands into fists. “Are you going to shoot me, Your Majesty?”

Clara swallowed deeply. “I would rather not. But I will not let you murder my husband.”

Keeping his gaze on Clara and Vogt, Eric reached for the scepter. His hand curled over it, and he brought it up, aiming it at Vogt. Ropes flew forth, coiling tightly around Vogt’s wrists and ankles. Unable to keep his balance, Vogt crumpled to the floor. Hatred blazed in his eyes as he glared up at Eric, and he struggled to find a dignified position in his bonds.

“Your failure to carry out my execution before is what caused this,” Vogt hissed at Eric. “Are you too cowardly to remedy that mistake? Go on, _Your Majesty_. Carry out the true punishment for treason, as is your responsibility as king.”

Eric’s hand tightened on the scepter. He stared at Vogt with a strained fury, conflict in his eyes as he contemplated Vogt’s words.

Perhaps Vogt was right. Perhaps allowing him to roam free in exile was a mistake on Eric’s part.

But to kill Vogt here, without a trial and with nothing more than protective rage for Clara thundering in his head…it seemed too close to something Mauscher would do.

Yet he couldn’t very well just leave Vogt in this world.

His arm holding the scepter trembled beneath his indecision. Then a soft hand, its touch lighter than the dust of snowfall, laid over his. Eric blinked in surprise and turned to see Clara standing next to him, her eyes pleading as she looked up at him. He hadn’t even heard her come to his side.

“Eric,” said Clara gently. Her voice was an immediate relief from the heat inside him, and his shoulders sagged at the sound of his name on her lips. “We must take him back to Parthenia. He will stand trial there.” She curled her fingers over his wrapped around the scepter. “It’s alright, Eric,” she whispered.

Eric held her gaze for a long moment. Then he nodded and turned back to Vogt.

“ _Haze the thoughts and douse the mind_

 _In the heaviness of sleep, in the dreams that bind._ ”

The scepter glowed at Eric’s words. Vogt blinked, suddenly looking extremely drowsy. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and he slumped to the floor in an enchanted sleep.

Eric lowered the scepter with a heavy exhale. Clara carefully drew it from his grasp and knelt to set it down, then straightened and wrapped her arms around him. Eric shuddered, fervently returning the embrace. His hands shook faintly, though he wasn’t sure if it was from anger or fear. Perhaps both.

Clara tightened her grip on him, and Eric closed his eyes, focusing solely on _her_. The feeling of her in his arms, the familiar scent of her hair as it caught between them in their embrace. The comforting surety that her presence brought to him. He pulled back to properly look at her. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked in concern.

Clara smiled tiredly. “Yes.”

Eric studied her face. Relieved at the truth in her eyes, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I was so worried,” he whispered. “Clara, if anything had happened to you…”

“But it didn’t,” interrupted Clara. She swallowed, pushing away horrible thoughts of how the night _could_ have ended. She lifted her hands to his cheeks. “We’re safe.”

The words _we’re safe_ brushed soothingly over the frazzled thoughts of Eric’s mind. Hearing them come from Clara solidified them in a manner that he desperately needed, and he sighed in relief.

 _Safe._ She was safe.


	24. Gas Light Part VI

The door Vogt had come through banged open again, and Eric and Clara jerked their heads up at the sound of pattering feet approaching the orchestra pit. Eric drew Clara against him and glanced at the scepter. But before he could reach for it, a familiar face poked over the edge of the pit.

“Tommy!” exclaimed Clara.

“Clara!” cried Tommy happily. He jumped into the pit and rushed forward.

Clara broke away from Eric to envelop her brother in a fierce hug, laughing tearfully as she kissed Tommy’s hair.

“You’re alright!” sputtered Tommy. “You’re _alright_!” He made a sound that was close to a sob. “We tried so hard to get here before those men could do anything to you.”

“I know, Tommy. I’m so proud of you – you did such a wonderful job.” Clara smiled and gave her brother a squeeze. “I promise, I’m perfectly fine.”

Eric affectionately slung his arm over Tommy. “You were fantastic, Tommy. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Tommy grinned, then broke away from them both to gesture excitedly at his brother-in-law. “Have you seen what Eric’s umbrella does? It’s _incredible_!” He dug into his pocket, pulling out a small handful of glowing ginger drops. “Look what he did to my candy!” His mouth took on a mischievous slant. “They were those smoke bombs I threw.”

Clara pursed her lips. “Well, while I appreciate Eric giving you something to protect yourself with, he _will_ be disenchanting the remaining ginger drops.” She looked at Eric in warning. “Won’t you.” It was not a question.

Eric gave a short laugh, then held out his hand expectantly. “Give them here, Tommy.”

Tommy gave Eric a look of disbelief. “Must I?”

“Yes,” said Eric firmly. “You must.”

Tommy hesitated, glancing between Eric and Clara in dismay. Then he sighed in disappointment. “Fine.” He poured the candies into Eric’s waiting palm.

“And the ones in your pocket,” prompted Eric.

Tommy frowned, but obediently shoved his hand into his pocket to surrender the remaining candies. Eric lifted the spell on them easily. Yet he did not to return them to Tommy, wary of the possible effects the ginger drops may have if eaten, now that they had been touched by magic. To compensate for Tommy’s loss, Eric promised to buy him an entire bag of candies as soon as he could.

“What about him?” Tommy asked, gesturing to Vogt.

Eric’s mouth dipped into an uncertain frown. What _were_ they to do with Vogt? And his men? They could not leave them in this world. Even in prison they would be too dangerous with their knowledge of Parthenia, and whatever other abilities Vogt may have learned. They had to bring them back. But how, with just him and Clara? Going back to Parthenia for reinforcements would be too time-consuming, even if one did not factor in the time shifts.

Eric looked at Clara, lost as to what to do. She grimaced, then glanced at Tommy. “Tommy, why don’t you go and make sure all of the lights in the theatre box are doused? I should hate it if the school were to accidently burn down.”

Tommy hesitated, sensing the odd discomfort that had settled over Eric and Clara. But he nodded and reluctantly headed for the stairs leading out the orchestra pit, disappearing back onto the main level of the theatre.

Clara’s attention fell to Eric’s arm, which was bleeding from the gash Vogt’s knife had made. Her brow creased in concern. “Eric, you’re bleeding.”

Eric glanced down at the arm. “Oh.” He barely felt the sting of it anymore, too preoccupied by the dilemma before him.

Clara reached for the injured arm. “Here, let me bandage it.”

“It’s fine – for now.” Eric gently pushed Clara’s hand away and waved at Vogt. “This is more important.” He sighed. “We cannot leave them here, Clara; they need to be brought back to Parthenia. But the only way I can think of transporting them effectively is if I…” He swallowed, a horrible churning seizing his stomach.

He couldn’t transform them. He could not do to others what Mausher had done to him. He had made a promise to himself, when he had been crowned king, that he would never use transformation spells as a punishment. Even on someone as dangerous as Vogt. There had to be another way.

But there wasn’t. He knew there wasn’t.

A mangled sound of frustration and grief escaped his throat, and he looked pleadingly at Clara. “Clara, I can’t,” he whispered.

Empathetic sorrow seeped into Clara’s eyes. “Is there any other way to get them to Parthenia?” There was not much hope in her question. It was clear she already knew the answer, but she asked regardless.

There was a long moment of silence.

“No,” Eric said quietly. “No, there isn’t.” He let out a low breath and turned away, running his hand through his hair in agitation. Helpless to offer an alternative, Clara could only watch as Eric paced the floor. Finally, Eric stilled and faced Vogt once again. He set his jaw. “I’ll be sure his men are sleeping as well. I do not want them awake during it.” He tightened his hand on the scepter until his knuckles flared white. His movements stiff, he slowly aimed the scepter at Vogt’s limp body.

“ _Transform his flesh into a body of glass…_ ”

Eric’s voice trembled, and the words broke off with a choked sound. The scepter shook violently in Eric’s grip as he glanced away, unable to finish the incantation.

In the same manner as she had done before, Clara laid her hand over Eric’s that clutched the scepter. Then she spoke, providing him with the words he lacked the strength to form.

“ _Until the spell has been lifted, so that justice may come to pass_ ,” she murmured.

Eric returned his gaze to Vogt. He inhaled deeply and repeated Clara’s words, knowing they would work just as well as anything he could have conjured up. While Eric had grown up memorizing numerous spells for the scepter, there were many that he simply came up with himself. Either way, it did not matter if he authored the incantations or not, so long as he spoke them aloud. As king, it was _his_ voice that the scepter needed for spells to be cast properly.

Rigid with tension, Eric did not look away as Vogt shrank and contorted into a glass ornament figure. When it was done, Eric let the scepter drop to the floor.

Clara’s heart broke upon seeing his expression. She brought her hands up to cradle Eric’s face, turning him away from Vogt’s enchanted form. “There was no other way,” she said. “It was an action of necessity, not vengeance.”

Eric did not reply, as he did not trust his voice. He closed his eyes, guilt gnawing at the anguish within him from the promise he had broken.

Unsure what else to say, Clara let her attention fall back to his still-bleeding arm. “You must let me bind it, Eric.” She lowered her hand to his arm. “Please.”

Eric nodded, and allowed her to wrap the bloody gash with a strip of cloth she tore from her petticoat. Tommy soon returned, and Clara promptly steered him towards the hallway leading towards the school’s main entrance. She instructed her brother to wait there, which he did begrudgingly.

Back inside the school, Eric put Vogt’s men under enchanted sleeps, then transformed them into ornaments similar to Vogt’s form. Clara stayed by his side the entire time, gathering up the ornaments carefully. They were quiet when they met Tommy at the school’s entrance, and Tommy, though confused, sensed that it was best not to speak. With a heavy solemnness blanketing the three, the group made their way back to the Drosselmeyer house.

Walther had fallen asleep waiting for them. Clara and Eric didn’t mind though, not wanting to be bothered with questions at the moment. The ornaments were stored in a box and placed in Herr Drosselmeyer’s study downstairs, where they would remain until Clara and Eric left for Parthenia. Though uneasy at having the ornaments in the house, Clara did not voice her feelings on the matter. She kept her expression free of any lingering concerns as she ushered Tommy into bed, then returned to her and Eric’s room.

Eric was sitting on the edge of their bed, staring at the scepter in his hands. Hearing Clara enter the room made him glance up, and he set the scepter down tiredly.

Clara gave him a sympathetic look as she settled onto the bed beside him. She took his hands in hers. “Eric, it’s alright. The enchantment is only temporary, and in their sleep they are not even aware of it. Please,” she begged. “Please do not feel guilt over this. You could have simply killed Vogt. But you are bringing him back, _alive_ , to Parthenia. That is something to be admired, Eric. Something to feel proud over.”

Eric sighed. “I know. I just…I never thought I would have to do that.”

“Doing so does not make you an evil person. Casting a spell to ensure that we could transport those men back to Parthenia in a manner that ensured _our_ safety was a logical deed, not one of malice.” She leaned forward until their foreheads rested against each other’s. “Do not let this weigh on your heart, love.”

The pained look that had been plaguing Eric’s expression ebbed into simple exhaustion. “Thank you, Clara,” he whispered.

Clara tenderly kissed his cheek. “Now,” she said, pulling away. “Let me see your arm. I’m afraid my petticoat bandage will not suffice for much longer.”

Eric’s mouth curved into a small smile, and he obligingly rested his injured arm on Clara’s lap. Clara was right: the makeshift bandage looked about ready to fall off. The cloth was ragged from all that Clara’s dress had gone through during past hours, its dingy state only emphasized by the stains of dirt and blood.

Clara tutted at the disgraceful bandage, then stood and left the room to retrieve a medical kit. She returned quickly and instructed Eric to shed his jacket and shirt so that she could properly tend to him. He did, and she exchanged the pitiful bandage for a fresh one. Fortunately, the cut was rather shallow, so stitches would not be not necessary. Regardless, fury flashed in her eyes as the wound was exposed to her. The expression was not missed by Eric, and he brushed his fingers against her cheek reassuringly.

“Don’t worry – it doesn’t hurt,” he said. The corner of his lips twitched upwards. “Much.”

Clara gave him a look of exasperated affection. Then a sudden light twinkled in her eyes, and she flashed him a soft smile. “You know, you never did make good on your promise to pay me for all of this bandaging I do for you.”

“I haven’t?” Eric grinned.

Clara held back a sigh of relief. It was the first expression Eric had made since they had returned to the house that wasn’t shadowed by misery. Her smile widened, and she took his hand. “No, you have not.”

“Well then, I shall have to remedy that.” Eric pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “And I know just what to do.”

“Do you?” Clara teased gently. “Tell me.”

Eric shook his head. “I most certainly will not. It shall be a surprise.”

“For when? Tomorrow?”

Eric chuckled. “We’ll have to see.” He swept a lock of Clara’s hair over her shoulder, and his brow creased as a thought suddenly came to him. “Clara, when you and Vogt were in the theatre box, something made him drop his revolver. He acted as though it had burned him.” He looked at her curiously. “Was that you?”

A blush bloomed on Clara’s cheeks, but there was an unmistakable glint of pride in her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted.

“It was your magic?”

“Yes. I…I’m not really sure how I did it. But somehow, I… _manipulated_ the revolver, and made it sear with heat.” She shrugged. “I figured that would be the best way to make him drop it.”

Eric stared at her. “You can do that?”

“Apparently.” She pursed her lips, thinking. “Though I think I need to be touching whatever I want to alter. I’m not sure really, it’s all very confusing.” She paused. “Oddly, the revolver didn’t burn _me_. I suppose that’s because it was my own magic affecting it.” She heaved a sigh. “But honestly, I’m just making vague assumptions.”

“I’ll have to be sure not to vex you then. I would hate to be on the receiving end of your…abilities.”

Clara laughed at his teasing. “Wise decision,” she joked.

Eric smiled, the weight of guilt on his shoulders lifting at the sound of Clara’s laughter.

They were both painfully weary, to the point that even changing into night clothes seemed like an unattainable task. Clara managed to only strip down to her chemise before falling into an exhausted sleep beside Eric, who remained in his day trousers. They held each other close as they slept, grateful for each other’s presence as the hours passed over their dreams.

/

The next morning, Tommy was greatly grieved to learn that Eric and Clara had decided they would return to Parthenia that afternoon.

“But you can’t leave!” protested Tommy. “You’ve only just arrived.”

“We cannot leave Vogt and his men here, in your grandfather’s study of all places,” Eric said grimly. “We must return them to Parthenia.”

“But then you’ll come straight back, won’t you?” pleaded Tommy.

Eric gave Tommy a tired smile. “I wish it were that simple. There are many factors that go into world traveling, time shifting being the most prominent – and inconvenient.”

Clara patted her brother. “We’ll be back as soon as we can, Tommy. But this is important.”

Tommy opened his mouth to argue further. But seeing the regret on both Clara and Eric’s faces pacified him, and he nodded. “But you _will_ come back soon?”

“As soon as possible,” promised Eric. “After all, I _do_ owe you a bag of candy.”

“I won’t forget that, you know,” said Tommy, pointing a finger at Eric expectantly.

Eric laughed. “I’m counting on it.”

Clara left a letter for her grandfather, blaming their departure on a family emergency involving a relative of Eric’s. Then they departed, arriving back in Parthenia with little delay.

Once they returned to the castle, and the situation had been explained to Major Mint and Captain Candy, Eric lifted the enchantments from Vogt and his men. They were a little disoriented upon waking, but as far as Eric could tell, there were no serious effects from the spell. Satisfied, Eric left Vogt and his men in the castle dungeons, not wanting to linger in their presence for longer than necessary.

The trial took place the following week. It was decided that the traitors would be moved to a more isolated prison in southern Parthenia, where they would serve out their lifelong sentences.

In the days during and after the trial, Eric was noticeably tense with anxiety. Only when the prisoners had been taken from the castle grounds did he finally relax. Yet Clara still worried over Vogt’s boasts that he had learned dark magic beyond Parthenia’s borders. She spoke to Eric about it, but there was little they could do. Vogt had refused to reveal where his magic had come from, and they had no idea where Vogt had been during his exile. All they could do was keep a closer eye on Parthenia’s borders, and have the soldiers stationed in towns near the borders listen for anything amiss. It wasn’t the most satisfying solution, but it would have to suffice for now.

Three weeks after the trial, things seemed to be settling back into their normal routine. Feeling confident that enough time had passed since the trial for it to be appropriate, Clara convinced Eric to take a few days off to fulfill their promise to Tommy.

Tommy was overjoyed to see them appear on the Drosselmeyer house’s front steps, and fiercely embraced them both in greeting. True to his word, Eric pulled out a bag of candies – all of which were specially made in Parthenia. Tommy’s face lit up at the gift, and he excitedly sprung off in search of Walther to show him the odd-looking treats.

Herr Drosselmeyer was there to greet them too. He welcomed them in his usual gruff manner, but there was genuine concern in his tone as he asked after Eric’s family. Eric warmly reassured the man that all as well, and the three of them fell into a pleasant conversation that lasted for most of the afternoon.

That evening, as supper was being prepared to be brought out, Eric pulled Clara into the study for a private moment to themselves.

“I hope you don’t think I’ve forgotten about my promise I made to you last time we were here,” said Eric.

“About your ‘surprise’?” Clara smirked. “Actually, I _had_ been wondering. I was beginning to feel a little jilted by you.”

Eric chuckled. “My apologies, love. But I’m afraid that the surprise simply wouldn’t have been possible in Parthenia.”

“Oh?” asked Clara curiously. “And why is that?”

“Because the ballet performances in Parthenia are incredibly different than the ones here.” Smiling, Eric pulled out two tickets from his jacket and handed them to Clara. “It seems like fortune is on our side, because the ballet I had wanted to take you to has a performance _tonight_.”

Clara’s eyes widened upon seeing what was printed on the tickets. “These are for a performance of _Giselle_.” She looked up at him in shock. “How ever did you…”

“I gave Tommy a rather large financial incentive to run and buy them earlier today.” Eric tapped the tickets, looking rather proud of himself. “I had noticed an advertisement for it when we had been here last month. Thankfully, we made it back just in time for the final weekend.”

Clara ran her fingers over the tickets. The last time she had seen _Giselle_ , her mother had been the one to take her. Now that she lived in Parthenia, she had begun to doubt she would ever get the opportunity to see it again. She had only talked about it once to Eric – during his curse. Yet he had remembered. Emotion swelled within her as she looked up at him. “Thank you, Eric,” she whispered. “This is wonderful.”

“I’ve already talked to your grandfather, so he’s aware that we’ll be spending the rest of the evening elsewhere after supper.” He smiled humorously. “Though he did insist that we take the carriage.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” chuckled Clara. Gazing up at Eric with the utmost adoration, she pulled him into a kiss.

Eric heartily returned the kiss, laughing at the surprised sound Clara made when he lifted her off her feet. He gave her a gentle spin, then set her back on the ground. “I love you, Clara. Have I told you that?”

Clara grinned. “A few times. But you are always welcome to repeat it.”

“Good.” Eric pecked a quick kiss on her lips once more. “I love you.”

“And I love _you_ ,” Clara replied sincerely. She took his hand, squeezing it. “Shall we join Grandfather and Tommy? I’m afraid the food will go cold if we linger any longer.”

“Now that _would_ be a tragedy.” Eric looped Clara’s hand through his arm, leading her to the study’s door. “Though I suppose we can always have some of Tommy’s candy later if we’re still hungry.”

“I’m not sure he’ll be willing to share.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll have to remember to bring my own supply next time.”

They laughed, joy lighting their faces as they made their way out of the study to join their waiting family.


	25. A Coming Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're jumping ahead a bit in time...
> 
> (hopefully all of this back and forth time-switching isn't giving you guys whiplash)

“Your Majesty!”

Clara sighed as she turned, watching with amusement as Major Mint hurried up the corridor after her. Disappointment flitted across her thoughts; she had been hoping to get a little further before being discovered.

Major Mint stumbled to a stop before Clara, his face red from the effort of catching up. But he recovered with as much dignity as he could muster, tugging at his jacket to straighten it. He gave a disgruntled huff, his mustache puffing outwards as he spoke. “Does the king know where you are?” Concern knitted the major’s brow. “You should not be wandering so far from your bedchamber, my queen.”

Clara smiled affectionately at the man. “No, he does not, Major. He is busy. Besides, I wouldn’t want to bother him with something as unimportant as the constant updates to my whereabouts.”

“But to be up so soon after your cold –”

“Doctor Astros was not concerned in the least about it,” said Clara calmly. “Yes, I was a little tired yesterday, but I am fine now. Walking to the kitchens is hardly something to fuss over.”

The major waved his hand in a rather lost gesture. “But –”

Clara held up her hand, silencing him. “I appreciate your concern, major,” she said warmly. “Truly, I do. But it is unnecessary. Though if it will ease your anxiety, you are welcome to accompany me to the kitchens.”

The major brightened at the suggestion. “I shall,” he said in relief.

Clara’s smile, though lined with a faint weariness, widened as she looped her arm through the major’s. Now that she had deterred any insistence that she return to her chambers, Clara was grateful for the company. After having lain in bed for the near-entirety of yesterday, she was glad to walk and talk with someone.

Her cold had not been a severe one. But it had sapped a great deal of her energy, and she found herself sleeping for annoyingly long segments of time over the past few days. Eric had insisted that she allow her body to receive the rest it needed, assuring her that waking after nine in the morning was nothing to be ashamed over. Clara would have found his reassurance comforting, if it hadn’t been immediately followed by him boasting about finally being the earlier riser of the two of them. But it was nothing a good smack with a pillow couldn’t silence.

Smirking at the memory of Eric’s face following her (very much justified) pillow attack, Clara ran her hand over the swell of her stomach. Initially, she had been concerned about the effects of the cold on the baby growing inside of her. But once Doctor Astros assured her there was nothing to worry over, she cast aside her fears. Besides, after spending the past few days using what felt like every handkerchief left in Parthenia for her endlessly running nose, and drinking various combinations of Masha’s tea, she was itching to be free of the stifling atmosphere of her bedchamber.

By the time the major and Clara made it to the kitchens, Clara was beginning to feel the effects of the fatigue that had plagued her yesterday. Ignoring the frantic questions of the major, who continued to hover over her worriedly, Clara settled into a chair near the cutting table Masha was standing before with a relieved sigh.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Your Majesty?” asked the major. “Shall I fetch the king?”

“And tell him what?” snorted Masha. “That you drove his wife to exhaustion from your incessant chatter?” She waved at the major impatiently. “The queen is perfectly fine. But it you wish to be useful, why don’t you fetch her a cup of ginger tea? I have a pot on the far right stove.”

“Oh,” stuttered the major. “Of course, of course.” He gave Clara a bow. “I shall be only a moment.” Then he turned, awkwardly winding his way around Masha’s staff as he searched for the mentioned teapot.

Masha rolled her eyes and turned back to the apples she was peeling. “With nerves like his, it’s a wonder the kingdom doesn’t collapse whenever you and Eric leave him in charge of affairs.”

Clara smiled. “He means well.”

“He will drive us all mad one day,” huffed Masha. But there was an undeniable affection in her tone.

Clara picked up an apple near the edge of the table, along with a knife Masha wasn’t using. “Please tell me these are for apple cake.”

“Of course they are. And whatever is leftover shall be used for cider.” Masha flicked a piece of apple peel onto the table’s surface “Though if you want to have it for your anniversary dinner, I shall have to have the staff get some more. I refuse to serve you and the king four-day-old _apfelkuchen_ for such an occasion.”

Clara laughed. “Thank you, Masha, but the menu you already have planned out is perfect.”

Masha grunted in agreement.

Clara sat back in her chair and began peeling her apple. She worked with care, finding comfort in watching the outer layer of the fruit curl away beneath the knife’s blade.

It was her and Eric’s three-year anniversary in four days. Neither wanted it to be a large celebration, preferring the privacy of a quiet dinner between the two of them. But that had not stopped Masha from planning out an extravagant three-course dinner for the occasion.

Clara was glad Masha hadn’t waited to make the _apfelkuchen_. Clara had given Masha the recipe years ago, which had been an original of her grandmother’s. Masha had been – surprisingly – impressed with the recipe, and readily made it whenever Clara expressed even the slightest desire for it. Clara hadn’t mentioned it recently, but now that Masha was making it, Clara felt an eager craving for the dessert seize her. How like Masha, to know exactly what Clara would want while recovering from a cold.

“Has the little one been moving much today?” asked Masha. She cast a glance at Clara’s stomach.

Clara paused and lowered her hands, still holding the knife and apple, to rest on her swell of her dress. “She’s been rather quiet today. Though she –” Clara gave a soft gasp of surprise, then smiled down at her belly. “Ah. There she is. She must have heard you,” she teased.

Masha chuckled. Then she raised her eyebrows at Clara. “And how sure are you that she’s a ‘she’?”

Clara shrugged. “I suppose I don’t. It’s just a feeling.”

Masha gave a nod. Then she snorted. “Heavens, I hope you’re right. I can’t imagine a second Eric running around this castle.”

A laugh escaped Clara. “Goodness, the poor major would be at his wits’ end. He may very well have to finally retire to the country, in order to maintain his sanity.”

“What’s this about retiring to the country?” asked the major.

Clara and Masha turned their heads to watch Major Mint approach. He was holding a china teacup in one hand, which was perched on a matching saucer. He waited until Clara had set aside the apple and knife, then handed it to her with extreme (and in Clara’s opinion, unnecessarily exaggerated) care.

“What in heaven’s name took you so long?” snapped Masha.

The major’s face flushed. “The tea was near _room temperature_ ,” he sputtered defensively. “I had to make a new pot. Beside, the leaves had all but turned into a pitiful mound of mush. Mind you,” he continued. “I had to first _find_ your store of tea leaves, which, if I may be so bold as to say, needs to be labeled properly. Then I decided to add honey, as _just_ ginger can be overwhelming, especially when it’s the type you keep, Masha dear. Besides –”

“On second thought, perhaps you _should_ have a boy,” Masha muttered to Clara.

The major snapped his mouth shut, glaring at Masha.

Clara chuckled. “Thank you, Major,” she said sincerely. “I think I shall keep Masha company for a while longer, though. If you have other tasks to attend to, please don’t let me keep you. I’ll be quite fine here.”

“Oh,” said the major. “Of course.” He gave Clara a bow. “Glad to have been of service. I shall inform the king that you are feeling better.”

“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that,” Clara said, ignoring Masha’s snort.

The major straightened. Casting an annoyed glance at Masha, he turned and left the kitchens.

Masha set aside her peeled apple and reached for a new one. “So much for the king finishing any more work for the day.”

“Oh, dear,” said Clara. “I suppose I should have tried to dissuade the major from bothering Eric.”

“Better Eric than us.”

Clara hid her smile behind the teacup as she raised it to her lips. She took a careful sip. Immediately, her face scrunched up in distaste, and she hastily set the teacup on the cutting table.

“And how is the major’s tea?” asked Masha smugly.

“It’s...interesting.”

Masha lifted her chin in a haughty manner. “Re-label my teas? Bah! I’ll label my teas to his liking the moment he develops an ounce of talent for making anything fit for drinking or eating.” She set aside her knife and apple, then snatched up the teacup and saucer. “I shall be back in a moment, with a _proper_ cup of tea.” She pointed to the apple Clara had been working on. “And stop dallying. I expect that to be fully peeled when I return.”

“Of course,” Clara said humorously.

Masha gave a humph as she strode off, muttering about the incompetence of majors and tea organization as she went in search of the ruined pot of tea.

/

Clara sighed in contentment as the music of the snow globe drifted throughout the bedchamber. She was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, beside which was a small table. On it was a couple of books, a candle, and Clara’s snow globe. The artificial snow flakes swirled about inside the glass dome, spinning in patterns that would have been impossible to achieve without magic. It was immensely relaxing to watch, and Clara felt her eyelids droop as the music settled over her.

The sound of approaching footsteps roused her from the pull of sleep, and she looked up to see Eric lean against the back of the chair.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Were you sleeping?”

“No. Not quite.” She shook her head at the guilt edging Eric’s expression. “I’m glad - I wanted to be awake when you came in.” Clara gestured for Eric to come closer. He did, kneeling beside the chair and resting his elbows on the armrest so that his head was level with Clara’s. She smiled, warmth flooding through her at his presence. “How was your afternoon?” They had had lunch together, but – to Clara’s disappointment – been separated in the hours since.

“It started out productive,” said Eric. “Then the major found me in the library.”

“Oh dear. I suppose that was my fault,” Clara said with a gentle laugh.

Eric smirked. “He was terribly worried about your escape from our rooms.”

“Yes, apparently it was quite the risk to my life.”

“Apparently.” Eric leaned forward and kissed Clara’s cheek. “Life-threatening walks to the kitchens aside, how are you feeling?”

“Much better,” said Clara. “Though I wish my nose would stop running.”

“Me too. I’m tired of the piles of handkerchiefs.”

Clara smacked Eric’s arm, prompting a laugh from him. His attention fell to her swollen belly, and he reached out to place his hand against it. It didn’t take long for Eric to feel a faint kick against his palm. “There she is,” he murmured.

Clara laid her hand over Eric’s. “She’s always more active whenever there’s music playing.” She glanced at the snow globe. “She seems to especially enjoy the snow globe’s song.”

Eric smiled. “Well of course she does. She has excellent taste, just like her father.”

A laugh burst from Clara. “Forgive me, but is that not _my_ song the snow globe plays?”

Eric shrugged. “Details.”

Clara rolled her eyes.

Amused, Eric turned his hand over so that his and Clara’s palms were touching. “Spend the day with me tomorrow?” he whispered, threading his fingers through hers.

Clara nodded. She pulled her hand free from Eric’s to cup the sides of his face, drawing him into a kiss. Eric rested one hand against the side of her stomach and wrapped his other arm around her back, supporting her as he moved closer.

They eventually broke apart, and Eric pressed a final kiss to Clara’s forehead before returning his attention to her stomach. He stroked his hand over it with care, pausing every once in a while to feel their child’s movements. Clara sat quietly, smiling as she watched various emotions flicker over Eric’s expression. She reached out, brushing her thumb over his lips. When she lowered her hand, Eric glanced up to see that her drowsiness had returned, her eyelids fluttering beneath the weight of it. Sensing his gaze, she blinked at him sleepily.

“Come to bed?” he asked, his voice soft.

Clara nodded again. Reaching over the armrest, Eric slipped his arms beneath Clara. He stood, lifting her.

Clara rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “I’m so happy,” she whispered.

“About what?”

“This baby. You. Masha’s tea.” Clara tightened her looped arms around Eric’s neck. “You.”

Eric chuckled. “You’re exhausted.”

“Mm,” murmured Clara.

Eric settled Clara into their bed with little difficultly. He tried to straighten so he could change his clothes, but Clara kept a secure hold on him, and he was forced to simply kick off his boots and slip beneath the sheets next to her. She lay on her side with her back facing Eric, and he pulled her against his chest, slinging his arm over her. Clara mumbled something to Eric, but when he asked her to repeat it, she had already fallen asleep. Smiling, Eric pressed a kiss to his wife’s head.

They slept soundly, the snow globe’s music tinkering at the edges of their dreams.


	26. Summertime Part I

“Where could your papa possibly be taking us, Marie?” Clara cooed. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top her daughter’s head. “What mischievous plan does he have hidden up his sleeve?”

Eric smiled and released his horse’s reins, allowing the animal to graze in the field they were in. He walked over to Clara, who pulled her mare to a stop. Strapped against Clara’s chest was their infant daughter, whose blue eyes immediately brightened upon seeing her father approach. Marie thrust her hand through the winding cloth keeping her tied to her mother, waving at Eric.

“Pa!” she cried out happily. “Pa!”

Eric’s smile broadened as he reached up, helping Clara undo the cloth securing Marie. Once she was free, Clara handed her to Eric.

“Hello, love,” Eric said cheerfully. He kissed Marie’s cheek, eliciting a giggle from the child. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

Marie let out a happy cry, grabbing at Eric’s finger as he tapped her nose.

Clara dismounted her mare. “Alright,” she said. “Where to now?”

Keeping Marie propped up against his hip with one arm, Eric took Clara’s hand. “This way.”

They wandered to the edge of the field, which was bordered by a large grove of trees. Most of the trees had apples dangling from their branches, the red of their skin a pleasing contrast to the rich green of the leaves. At the base of some of the trees were ginger plants with scarlet flowers a few shades darker than the apples above them. The mingling scent of the two, enhanced by the magic they had been planted with, blanketed the grove in a comforting atmosphere.

Clara released Eric’s hand to let him handle Marie more easily. Her gaze flitted towards the western border of the grove, which sloped upwards to form a long hilltop. Faintly, Clara could make out the sound of waves slapping against the shore of the beach hidden on the other side of the hill. She looked back at Eric and Marie, smiling as she watched Eric lift Marie so she could grab one of the apples. Eric let Marie prod at the fruit for a few seconds, then reached up to tug it loose and hand it to his daughter.

Immediately, Marie lifted the fruit to her lips. She tried to open her mouth wide enough to fit the entire apple inside, but quickly realized the futility of such an endeavor. So she settled for gnawing at the apple’s outside with as much ferocity as she could muster.

Eric laughed. “I’m afraid you don’t have enough teeth for that, love.”

Marie worked at the apple for a few more seconds. Then apparently deciding that _it_ was the problem, not the size of her mouth, she let it drop from her grip. It rolled between her side and Eric’s arm, and Eric gave his arm a shake, tossing the apple onto the ground. Marie gigged at the jostling, grinning a nearly-toothless smile up at him. Eric smiled back and bounced her again, prompting an explosive laugh to escape her. She threw her head back as she laughed, then froze, staring with wide eyes.

Marie made a curious noise, pointing upwards. An unintelligible stream of sounds sputtered from her lips, though her excited tone was easy to discern.

Eric followed her gaze, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.

Peeking out from behind one of the leaves of the tree branch Eric had picked the apple from was a flower fairy. A crown of tiny roses encircled her brow, and miniature lilies had been weaved into her wavy locks of brown hair.

Marie gave a cry of excitement, making grabbing motions with her hands as she stretched her arms towards the fairy. “Up! _Up!_ ”

Eric nodded to the fairy. “Hello there,” he said. “I hope we aren’t bothering you.”

The fairy tilted her head, staring curiously at Marie. Recognition flickered over her face as she looked at Eric and Clara, and her wings fluttered upwards in a happy greeting. Stepping out from behind the leaf, the fairy bounded gracefully across the branch and leaped into the air, gliding over to land on Eric’s upturned palm. She wore a dress made of yellow and lavender flower petals, though her feet remained bare.

Marie immediately swiped at the fairy. Alarm flashed over the fairy’s face, and she launched herself into the air to dodge the hand.

“Marie, _no_ ,” scolded Eric. “You can look, but don’t touch her. Her wings are very delicate.”

Marie scrunched up her face in confusion. Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and she gave a frustrated sob.

“It’s alright, Marie,” soothed Clara. “You just startled her, that’s all.”

Marie struggled in her father’s arms, emitting a series of discontent noises as she reached for the fairy. The fairy hovered just out of Marie’s reach, watching with fascination. Then, raising her head, the fairy opened her mouth and released a series of bell-like sounds. Not a moment had passed before dozens of fairies began peeking out from their hiding places, emerging from behind apples, the inside of tree knots, and the tangled leaves of ginger plants.

The fairies flew to join their companion. Marie’s eyes widened at the sight of them, and she bubbled out a gasp of excitement, clapping her hands. The fairy who had originally appeared waved to her companions, uttering a question of some sort. The others nodded, readily agreeing to whatever had been asked.

The fairies turned back to Marie as one. Then they spread out, twirling in different directions as they began to perform a dance for the infant princess.

Marie giggled and cried out gleefully as she watched. Clara moved closer to Eric and wrapped a hand around his arm, drawing his attention. They exchanged a smile, and Clara pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

At the end of the dance, the fairies threw their arms upwards. A cloud of colorful flower petals exploded into the air, cascading down upon the king, queen, and princess. Marie laughed in delight, clumsily snatching at what petals she could.

Looking very pleased with themselves, the fairies gave delicate bows. Clara and Eric bowed back, and the brunette fairy twittered out something.

Eric grinned and looked at Marie. “Did you hear that, Marie?” he asked. “They say you’re beautiful.”

Marie let out a string of joyful half-words that jumbled together nonsensically. But the fairies smiled adoringly, seeming to understand.

Eric gently tickled Marie’s stomach. “Say goodbye, Marie,” he prompted.

“Buh...bye!” cried Marie, waving wildly.

The fairies chimed out pleasant laughter. Then they flew off, disappearing into the treetops.

Marie shook her head, sending petals flying from where they had landed in her golden locks of hair. She made a sound of amazement at the shower of colors and grabbed the front of Eric’s shirt, tugging excitedly. “Pa! _Pa!_ ”

“Yes, I see them,” said Eric. “Very pretty.”

Clara reached up and pulled a rose petal from Eric’s hair. “You look lovely too, dear,” she teased.

“Thank you,” laughed Eric.

Clara tapped the petal against Marie’s nose. Then she let it fall back into her palm, and she blew softly, sending it whirling past Marie into the summer breeze. “Shall we walk along the beach, Marie?” asked Clara. “Maybe we’ll find some seashells to take home and show Aunt Elizabeth.”

Marie puckered her lips and sputtered out a puff of air, mimicking Clara blowing the petal away.

“I think that’s a yes,” said Eric.

Clara laughed and took Eric’s hand once again, leading him towards the sloping hill of the grove.

The Sea of Storms was no less dangerous then it had been when Clara had first traveled to Parthenia. But that was only once one sailed past the cove that the grove bordered. Near the cove’s beach, the waters were as gentle as any other sea’s would be, and neither Clara nor Eric were concerned about letting Marie explore the shoreline.

“Are you sure she’ll be alright while we’re gone?” asked Clara worriedly.

“She’ll be perfectly fine,” reassured Eric. “We’ll only be at the conference for two days. Besides, Elizabeth is more than capable of watching her.”

Clara nodded, relieved that her aunt’s visit to Parthenia had coincided with the political conference she and Eric were to leave for tomorrow. Of course, there were other castle staff members who could watch Marie, but Clara certainly wasn’t about to object when her aunt offered to do the job.

A few feet away from where they sat was Marie, who stumbled happily along the shoreline. She was already clutching a seashell in each of her hands, but she continued to search for more, emitting sounds of fascination whenever she found something of interest.

“Shell!” Marie waved her hand towards a large pink seashell, which was sticking halfway out of the sand. She began to walk towards it, her footsteps unsteady as she struggled to move through the wet sand.

“We had better help her,” said Clara. “Before she realizes she can’t hold any more shells without dropping the ones she has.”

Eric grimaced. “You’re right.” He stood and helped Clara to her feet. “Marie,” he called as they followed after their daughter. “Marie, hold on.”

Marie cast a quick glance back at her parents and waved. “Shell!”

Clara flashed a smirk at Eric. “I hope you know that it will be _your_ jacket pockets we’ll be using to transport the shells back to the castle.”

Eric exhaled a mock sigh. “I suppose I should have expected that.”

Clara took Eric’s hand, pulling him towards Marie. “Marie, darling, hold on. Why don’t we give the shells you already have to Papa? Here, give them to me, love...”

/

“Major!” exclaimed Tommy wearily. “Major, you have to help me. She won’t stop crying!”

Major Mint grimaced, sympathy in his eyes, but he did not reach for the wailing child in Tommy’s arms. “Where is Lady Elizabeth?” he asked instead. “Is she not in charge of the princess until the king and queen return from their conference?”

“She _was._ But she and Masha left an hour ago for the market, as Masha said she needed help. Though I have no idea _what_ could be so important,” grumbled Tommy. “So Aunt Elizabeth insisted that _I_ watch Marie. She said it would be ‘good for me,’ or some nonsense. Why would she have _me_ take care of a one-year-old baby? Aunt Elizabeth should know better.” Marie gave a vicious twist as she screamed, eliciting a cry of alarm from Tommy as he struggled to keep a hold on her. “Marie was taking her nap when Aunt Elizabeth left. But she woke up a little bit ago, and I can’t get her to stop crying!”

“Oh dear,” muttered the major. He looked about frantically, then gestured for Tommy to follow him. “Here, come with me.”

The major led Tommy down the corridor a short ways before ushering him into a small study. Sitting at the desk was Captain Candy, who waswriting something on a map covered in intricate notes. Upon hearing the rather loud entrance of the three newcomers, Candy snapped his head up.

“What in the world –” he sputtered. He pushed himself to his feet. “What happened?”

“You have to help us!” pleaded Tommy. “She won’t stop crying!”

Something akin to both pity and humor flickered over the captain’s face as he took in the distressed expressions of Tommy and Major Mint. “Did you check to see if she’s wet?” he asked.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tommy said in exasperation. He looked both offended by the question and disgusted that he had to do so in the first place. “She’s dry.”

“Is she hungry?”

“She won’t eat!” said Tommy. “I tried.”

“I’m not surprised; she’s probably still full from lunch,” mused the captain. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking surprisingly relaxed despite Marie’s screaming.

“Don’t you have _any_ useful suggestions?” snapped the major.

Candy glared at the major. “I don’t see _you_ doing anything helpful,” he retorted. He gestured to Tommy. “Here, give her to me.”

Tommy was all too willing to do so. He quickly – but carefully – transferred Marie to Candy’s arms, then stepped back, as though distancing himself from the wailing child might help the situation.

Candy focused his full attention on Marie. As he rocked her, he began to sing softly in a language Tommy didn’t understand. If they were in Tommy’s home world, he would have assumed the language to be of Middle Eastern origin. But here, Tommy had no idea what it could possibly be. Regardless, he found the words to be rather comforting.

Apparently Marie did as well. At first, she seemed too distressed to even notice that the captain was singing. But he persisted, and as the minutes passed, Marie grew more aware of the song being sung to her. To Tommy and Major Mint’s amazement, she slowly calmed. After a few minutes, her crying had ebbed completely, and she simply stared up at Candy. Yet Candy did not cease singing or rocking her. Eventually, Marie drifted off to sleep. Only then did the captain fall silent.

“That was incredible!” whispered Tommy. He stared at the captain in awe. “How did you do that?”

Candy smiled. “I have four younger siblings, and helped my mother often when I was a boy.” He shrugged, careful not to jostle Marie. “Sometimes it just takes a calm voice to soothe them.”

“Well, of course it does,” huffed Major Mint. He straightened, holding his head up in a dignified manner. “I was about to try the same thing myself, but I wanted the captain’s opinion before trying my method.”

Candy and Tommy exchanged exasperated looks.

“Anyway,” continued the major briskly. “Now that the princess has been seen to, I must take my leave. The king and queen are due back from the conference tonight, and I want to be sure everything is in order for them.”

“Of course,” said the captain, a hint of sarcasm underlining his tone.

The major excused himself, and Candy glanced at Tommy. “Shall we put her back in bed?”

Tommy nodded in relief, following Candy into the corridor.

“I heard you celebrated your birthday recently,” said the captain. “How old are you now? Forgive me, but it’s been some time since your last visit.” He kept his voice quiet, cautious of waking Marie again.

“Sixteen,” replied Tommy.

The captain nodded. “And are you still in school?”

“Yes.”

“Do you enjoy your classes?”

Tommy shrugged. “I suppose. I’d rather be out _doing_ things though.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Tommy. “I wanted to sail when I was younger. Then for a while I wanted to be in the army. Now I’m not really sure.”

“Hm,” mused the captain. “Well, if you still hold an interest in the army, I would be happy to talk to you about my own military experience.”

“Really?” asked Tommy, interest lighting his face. “You would?”

“Of course,” said Candy warmly. He glanced about before giving Tommy a mock warning look. “Don’t tell the major though. He’ll insist on telling you about _his_ military career as well, and that would be a mistake with disastrously boring consequences.”

Tommy smirked. “I promise.”

“Excuse me, Captain?”

Tommy and Candy turned at the soft voice. Standing behind them was a girl who looked to be about a year or two younger than Tommy. She had a pretty round face, and thick blonde hair draped over one shoulder in a long braid. She wore a coral blouse tucked into a pink and white striped skirt that reached her shins, over which was tied an apron. Looped throughher right arm was a basket covered by a white cloth. She was clearly a worker of some kind, though not of the castle, as she did not wear the mandatory white and blue the staff did.

“Ah, Miss Pepper,” greeted Candy. “I was wondering when you would visit next. How are you?”

“Fine, Captain,” said Pepper cheerfully. She looked affectionately at the baby curled up in Candy’s arms. “Of all people to watch the princess, Clara and Eric entrusted her to _you_?” She teased with a laugh. Her smile widened, showcasing the dimples at the corners of her mouth.

“Fortunately, they are a bit wiser than that,” chuckled Candy. “Lady Elizabeth is the princess’ current caretaker. We are watching Marie only for a few hours.”

“I see,” said Pepper. She glanced at Tommy. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” She shifted the basket further back on her arm and dipped into a curtsy. “I’m Pepper Rosecurry.”

“I...uh, I’m Tommy. Thomas,” stuttered Tommy. He bobbed a quick bow, his face flushing as he stumbled over his words. “Thomas Drosselmeyer. But everyone calls me Tommy.”

“Ah,” said Pepper. “You’re the queen’s brother, then!”

“Er...yes. She...does she talk about me often?” asked Tommy.

“She’s mentioned you a few times. Though I imagined you a bit differently.”

“Oh.” Tommy looked vaguely nervous at that. “How so?”

Pepper shrugged, a glimmer of humor flashing in her eyes.

There was a moment of silence between the three of them, and Candy cleared his throat to break it. “So, Pepper,” he said. “What can we help you with?”

Pepper blinked and snapped her gaze back to the captain. “Oh,” she said. She gestured to her basket. “I’m simply dropping off the usual baked goods Clara buys. I work in my mother’s bakery in the Gingerbread Village,” Pepper explained to Tommy. She looked back at the captain. “Though I had been hoping to speak with Masha. My mother had sent me with some money; she wanted to buy some of Masha’s cider. That’s why I was out here.” She waved at the corridor they were standing in. “Masha wasn’t in the kitchens.”

The captain nodded. “She’s at the market. She won’t be back for a few hours.”

“Oh,” said Pepper in disappointment. “Unfortunately I can’t wait that long. I need to head back soon.”

Tommy immediately spoke up. “I could deliver the cider later.” Pepper glanced at him in surprise, and he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, well, I’ve never visited the Gingerbread Village during my past visits to Parthenia. So...this gives me an excuse to go.”

“Are you sure?” asked Pepper.

Tommy nodded. “Of course. I’m spending the entire summer in Parthenia, so I have plenty of time to do so.”

“Well...thank you,” said Pepper, fiddling with the cloth draped over her basket.

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Right then,” he said, looking rather amused. “I’m sure we can arrange that. Pepper, why don’t you put the money and a note of what you want in the basket, and leave it in the kitchens. Tommy can deliver the cider tomorrow.”

Pepper nodded, casting a quick smile at Tommy. “Alright. I suppose I’ll be heading back then; my brother’s waiting for me.” She leaned forward, gazing adoringly at the princess sleeping in Candy’s arms. “Bye, Marie!” she whispered. She turned and made her way back down the corridor, pausing to wave at Candy and Tommy. “It was nice meeting you, Tommy!” Then she was gone, disappearing around the corner of the corridor.

Tommy raised his hand in a half-wave, staring after Pepper.

“Tommy?” Candy shifted Marie carefully in his arms. “Shall we put Marie to bed?”

“Hm?” Tommy glanced back at Candy. “Oh,” he said, flustered. “Oh...yes.”

Candy gave a light chuckle. “I suppose it was rather good fortune for Marie to wake up from her nap when she did.”

Tommy blinked at Candy in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, never mind.” Candy let his gaze drop back to Marie. He began singing again as they walked, barring any further questions from Tommy.


	27. Summertime Part II

“Shh,” whispered Clara, pressing a finger to her lips.

Marie giggled and blew out a stream of air similar to Clara’s shushing sound.

Clara adjusted Marie in her arms and edged closer to her and Eric’s bed. The blankets were rumpled and twisted, only partially covering Eric’s sleeping form. He was lying on his side with one arm bent outward, the fingers of his hand curled over the sheets. After a moment a low sigh escaped him, prompting a smile from Clara.

“Alright, Marie,” Clara breathed. She bent and set Marie on the bed. “Go ahead.”

Marie took a step forward. But her balance was wobbly at best on the mattress, so she dropped to her hands and knees, deciding that she could reach her father faster by crawling. Eric’s brow creased at the shifting of the mattress, but he did not wake. Instead, he simply rolled onto his back. This seemed to please Marie, who threw herself forward – onto Eric’s stomach.

Eric grunted at the impact, flinching into awareness as his eyes snapped open. “Wha…?” he slurred.

“Pah-pa!’ cried Marie.

The confusion in Eric’s eyes faded, and he gave a sluggish smile. “G’morning...”

Marie crawled further onto Eric’s stomach, pulling at his nightshirt with her efforts. Eric lifted his hand to Marie’s head, stroking through her short blonde hair with drowsy movements. Once he was more coherent, his gaze flickered up to Clara. “Just so you’re aware, threats of child attacks will not persuade me to wake any earlier than usual.”

“Who said I was trying to persuade you to do anything?” Clara settled onto the bed with an innocent smile. “Perhaps we simply got lonely waiting for you to get up.”

“Hm.” Eric gave a lock of Marie’s hair a gentle tug, prompting a giggle from her. He grinned, then looked back up at Clara. “Aren’t you exhausted?” he asked in disbelief. “It was past midnight when we got to bed.”

Clara shrugged. She supposed she _should_ feel somewhat tired. After attending the conference, she and Eric had spent the majority of yesterday traveling back to the castle. They hadn’t arrived until well past eleven, and had barely enough energy to check on Marie (who was sleeping in the nursery connected to their bedchamber) before changing and collapsing into bed.

Yet weariness was not what tugged at Clara now. Quite the opposite, really. She shifted, eager to meet Elizabeth and Tommy for breakfast.

Eric shook his head at Marie. “I don’t think it’s very fair, Marie. Of course your mother has endless energy – she has _magic_. How am I supposed to best that?”

“You can’t,” teased Clara.

Marie gave herself a push off of Eric’s chest, tumbling onto the empty space on the other side of him. Immediately she raised herself onto her hands and knees, and began to crawl towards an unused pillow.

Clara watched Marie for a few seconds, then turned her attention back to Eric. “Stop being such a slug-a-bed and come down for breakfast,” she said. “I’m starving.”

Clara moved to stand, but Eric lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and dragging her back onto the mattress.

“ _Eric!_ ”

Eric laughed as he drew Clara against him, holding her down as he kissed her. At the sudden explosion of noise, Marie turned away from the pillow she had been trying to flip over. She gave an excited cry and scrambled back to her parents. Seeing her approach, Eric unhooked one arm from around Clara and scooped up Marie. He plopped her on top of Clara’s stomach, effectively pining Clara in place.

“Ma!” exclaimed Marie.

Clara exhaled an amused sigh. Pulling Marie towards her, she planted a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. “Now that you are fully awake,” said Clara, smirking up at Eric. “Shall we go downstairs?”

“What are you talking about?” grinned Eric. “I’ve been ready.”

Clara rolled her eyes. “What am I going to do with your papa?” she asked Marie.

Marie simply giggled.

/

“You want to what?” Clara hovered her knife over the toast she was buttering, staring at her brother.

Tommy shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Visit the Gingerbread Village,” he repeated, sounding less sure than he had when he originally voiced the idea. He glanced at Marie, who was sitting in her high chair beside him and gnawing at a strawberry muffin. Sensing Tommy’s gaze, Marie smiled up at him. Tommy returned the grin and playfully tapped his toast on her nose.

“Today?” asked Elizabeth. She leaned forward to get a better look at Tommy, as Marie was sitting between the two of them.

Clara lowered the knife. “But the Summer Festival starts tomorrow. There’s a lot that still needs to be done.”

“I’ll make it back in time to help,” assured Tommy. He looked at Eric. “It’s not that far, is it?”

Eric shrugged. “It’s a couple of hours by horseback.”

“That’s a lot of time dedicated to a simple visit. At least the entire morning, _and_ part of the afternoon.” Clara frowned at Tommy. “Can we not take you next week? After the festival is over?”

“But I need to go _today_ ,” insisted Tommy.

Marie threw a piece of muffin at Tommy, hitting him in the arm. He tossed a glare at her, but quickly snapped his gaze back to Clara.

“Why today?” Clara asked suspiciously.

“Well...” Tommy glanced between her and Eric, looking rather embarrassed. “This girl, Pepper Rosecurry, came by the castle yesterday looking for Masha. She wanted to buy some of Masha’s cider. But Masha wasn’t here, and Pepper had to leave. So...I offered to deliver it today.”

Understanding lit Eric’s face. A smirk pricked the corner of his lips, and he and Elizabeth exchanged a glance.

Clara raised her eyebrows at Tommy. “That’s why? You want to deliver cider to Pepper Rosecurry?” Exasperation passed over her face, but it softened as she studied her brother’s nervous expression. She sighed. “Alright, I suppose. As long as you’re back by mid-afternoon.”

“I can take him,” offered Eric.

“I don’t need an _escort_ , Eric,” huffed Tommy. “I’m sixteen.”

Eric snorted. “Do you know how to get there?”

Tommy pressed his lips together uncertainly. “Can’t you just...tell me the way?”

Eric gave Tommy a look that, though amused, firmly rejected Tommy’s suggestion.

“I’d feel better if Eric went with you,” interjected Clara.

“I’m not a complete idiot, Clara.” Tommy frowned, lowering his toast to his plate. “There aren’t _that_ many roads leading away from the castle. How hard can it be to follow a road?”

“It’s not that I don’t have faith in your directional skills,” said Clara. “It’s your lack of punctuality that is the problem. I don’t want you getting distracted and coming back too late.”

“I promise to let you deliver the cider on your own,” Eric said. He leaned across the table and dropped a slice of banana on Marie’s tray. “I’ll stay outside with the horses.”

“I...who...what is that supposed to mean?” flushed Tommy. “Who cares if you come into the bakery? I...I don’t.”

“Right. Of course,” said Eric, his subtle sarcasm not lost on Tommy. Eric settled back in his chair, watching Marie stuff the banana piece into her mouth – which was still full of muffin.

“I suppose that leaves you and I in charge of the final preparations for the festival, then,” Clara said to Elizabeth.

“Honestly, that is probably for the best,” Elizabeth said, laughing at the offended expressions Eric and Tommy thew her. She stood and pulled Marie from her seat. “It’s decided then.”

/

During Eric and Tommy’s absence, Clara and Elizabeth worked to complete the final preparations for Parthenia’s Summer Festival. The five-day long holiday was a centuries-old tradition for the kingdom. Every year in the summer the festival was held in the field at the bottom of the hill the castle stood on. Dozens of dancers, singers, and magic users came to the festival, where they would perform a variety of acts for enraptured audiences. Food was available, and vendors came to sell various gifts and trinkets. It was a celebration the entire kingdom looked forward too.

In the days leading up to the festival, the performance stages and vendor booths had been set up in their proper places. Elizabeth and Captain Candy had taken charge of affairs, as Eric and Clara had been called away to their political conference on short notice. But it seemed that their absence had not hindered the festival’s planning, as everything remained on schedule.

Yet the decorating still needed to be completed before tomorrow.Clara, Elizabeth, and some of the castle staff had undertaken the task, which turned out to be a many-hours long process. The castle’s royal enchanter, Hoffmann, agreed to help, using his magic to send orbs of pink, lavender, and gold hovering above the festival grounds. The glowing spheres rotated slowly, acting as both decoration and luminescence. Banners of brightly colored silk were put up as well, dipping between booths and over the stages in splashes of warm colors.

Evening was approaching soon now. Clara knelt on the main stage, which stood in the center of the field. On the floor around her were small white beads. Above her hovered more of the beads, which glittered like tiny stars as they floated lazily over the stage. Clara plucked one of the beads from the stage floor and set it in her upturned palm. She focused on it, her brow creasing in concentration as she blew softly onto the bead.

The bead shivered, then began to emit the same white glow as those above. Slowly, the bead levitated out of Clara’s hand. It drifted upwards, stopping only when it had reached the height of the others. Clara smiled in satisfaction, then reached for another.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stage’s side stairs made her pause, and she twisted around to see Eric step onto the stage. Her smile widened, and, abandoning the remaining beads, she stood and turned to face him.

“I was hoping you would be back soon,” she said. “How did it go?”

“Exceedingly well,” replied Eric. “Tommy and Pepper talked for some time in the bakery.” A grin played at the corners of his mouth. “He seemed rather pleased when he came outside.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I suppose that makes it alright that you avoided decoration duty today, then,” teased Clara.

“That was my plan all along,” winked Eric. He looked up at the sparkling beads above them. “Though you seem to be getting along just fine without me. I’m afraid my decorating skills are rather pathetic compared to yours.”

“You’re right,” Clara said humorously “It’s probably a good thing that you didn’t help.”

Eric laughed. He cast a glance in the direction of the road that led up to the castle. “Is Marie with Elizabeth?”

“No, Brigit is watching her.”

Brigit was one of Clara’s ladies-in-waiting who had become especially attached to Marie. The girl was only sixteen, but she had a certain way with children that Clara immediately noticed. Though not a solemn girl by any means, there was a maturity to Brigit that was beyond her years, making Clara feel comfortable leaving Marie in her care.

Eric nodded. He looked about them, taking note of the few staff members left in the field. Most of them had finished their tasks, and those that remained were simply putting the final touches on their projects. “Will you be done after this?” he asked Clara, gesturing to the beads. “It’s almost suppertime.”

“Yes, I believe so.” Clara knelt and reached for another bead. But Eric bent and plucked one from the stage before she could, handing it to her. She flashed him a grateful look, then focused on the bead. A moment passed, and then it too ascended into the air. Eric continued to hand the remaining beads to her, and soon all were enchanted and floating above the stage, giving it a beautifully ethereal appearance.

They stood, and Eric took her hand in his. “Dance with me?” he asked softly.

Clara nodded, smiling as he swept her across the stage. They danced beneath the rays of twilight, whirling before an audience of fireflies and curious flower fairies until the sun dipped below the horizon.

/

Hundreds of people swarmed around the booths and tables set up in the field. Children cried out joyfully at the fairies dancing on the orbs of light above them, their hands sticky with the candies they held. Young men fiddled with flowers they had bought, eyeing potential partners that loitered near the dance platform. Vendors called out to passerby, promising the joy their products would bring, whether it be hundred-yard candy string, or an enchanted bracelet that was said to glow when your true love was near.

On the center stage was the Royal Parthenian Dance Troupe. They were one of the main performance groups chosen to celebrate the first day of the Summer Festival, and their dance easily exceeded expectations. Ballerinas in shimmering dresses twirled around each other, sending glitter showering from their skirts onto the audience.

“Pretty!” exclaimed Marie. She reached towards the ballerinas, making a grabbing motion with her hands.

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” said Clara. She shifted Marie on her hip and glanced up at Eric, whose hand rested on her waist as they moved through the crowd. “Afraid you’ll lose us?” she joked.

“A little,” smirked Eric. “I don’t remember it being so crowded last year.”

“I’ll take that as a good sign for this year’s festival then.” Clara looked about them. “Have you seen Tommy?”

Eric pointed towards the dance platform that had been set up a few booths away from the stage. Near the edge of the platform, Tommy and Pepper were dancing. There was a hint of nervousness on Tommy’s expression as he led Pepper through the winding couples, but it was easily overshadowed by the exhilaration in his eyes as Pepper smiled up at him.

“Well,” grinned Clara. “I wonder what Grandfather would have to say to that.”

“Yes, having one Drosselmeyer fall in love with an ‘American’ is bad enough. But two?” Eric shook his head in mock horror. “He’ll never allow Tommy to visit ‘Boston’ again after learning about the frivolous activities we let him engage in.”

Clara laughed. “Oh dear, you’re probably right.”

“Your Majesties!”

Eric and Clara turned to watch as a ballerina from the Royal Parthenian Dance Troupe hurried towards them. She was a slender, rather tall girl with a narrow face that matched her lithe features. Behind her, the other dancers were making their way off the stage.

“Hello, Peony,” smiled Eric.

Peony Corlynch beamed at Eric and Clara, then waved at Marie. “Hello Marie!”

Marie cried out gleefully, swiping at Peony’s fingers.

“Your dancing was beautiful, Peony,” said Clara. “You did a marvelous job.”

“Thank you,” said Peony.

“I thought I heard a rumor that you have earned the lead role in the troupe’s upcoming ballet,” said Eric. “Is that true?”

Peony blushed. “It is!”

“That’s wonderful!” praised Clara. She grasped Peony’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “We’re so proud of you.”

Peony’s eyes, never lacking their usual sharpness, flashed with excitement. “Ebba is going to help make the costumes for it. We’re going to use fairy dust to make the skirts float during the water segments.”

“That sounds spectacular,” said Clara. “You’ll have to let us know the moment tickets go on sale.”

“I will,” assured Peony.

“Peony!”

Peony glanced behind her at the distant shout. Standing by the stage was another dancer around Peony’s age. She was waving wildly, a grin stretched across her face.

“I should be going,” said Peony, glancing back at Eric and Clara. “My friends are waiting.”

“Of course,” said Eric. “We’ll see you soon, though.”

Peony nodded, looking eager at Eric’s promise. She bobbed a quick curtsy to them, then dashed off to join her friends.

“She’s doing so well,” Clara said happily to Eric.

“Yes she is, isn’t she?” Relief passed through Eric as he watched Peony disappear with her friends into the crowd.

When Hugo Corlynch had been released two years after his arrest, Eric was worried about disrupting the Corlynch children’s lives once again with the sudden reappearance of their father. But as Corlynch had been deemed a safe and capable caretaker for his children by then, Eric found himself unable to object to Corlynch coming back for them.

Eric and Clara had already prepared a new farm for the family upon Corlynch’s release. Knowing that Corlynch would be too proud to take it as charity, Eric made it a condition that Corlynch could return to his children only if he accepted the farm as well. Corlynch did so, and the farm continued to thrive today.

Peony was the only child to not go back with her father. As the years had passed between Corlynch’s arrest and release, Peony had grown exceptionally attached to Ebba Jerkins. And – to Clara’s surprise – Eric as well. There was a softness Peony reserved only for Eric, accompanied by a raw honesty the two shared when conversing.

As for Peony’s talent for dancing, it only increased with the years. Unwilling to move away and give up her passion, Peony decided to stay with Ebba Jerkins. Clara knew that the motherly support Ebba provided was something Peony still desperately needed, and therefore was relieved by Peony’s decision. Though saddened by his daughter’s refusal to come to the farm, Hugo Corlynch had not resisted it. It seemed that time and guilt had worn away the ferocity he had possessed before. Now, he took the care of his children with a solemn, yet steadfast, sense of duty.

According to Ebba Jerkins, Peony still visited her father occasionally. But the visits were rare, and were meant more for her siblings than her father. It saddened Clara and Eric to see how broken the Corlynch family had become by the Mouse King’s reign, but there was little else they could do beyond what they had already done. Eric refrained from mentioning Peony’s father when he spoke with her, allowing her to decide if she ever wanted the conversation to touch on her father. Which it rarely did.

Yet despite the hardships of choosing her dreams of dance over her father, Peony only seemed to grow in confidence. Eric and Clara had little worry for her now, and were happy to provide their support where they could.

“Shall we be heading back to the castle?” asked Eric. He glanced up at the sky, which was pink and orange from the setting sun. “Marie should be going to bed soon.”

“I can take her, if you want to stay,” said Clara. “The festival won’t end for a couple more hours, and I know Tommy won’t leave until then.”

Eric shook his head. “I’d rather be with you two.”

Clara raised herself on her toes to press a kiss to Eric’s cheek. She slipped her free arm through his, letting him lead them towards the sloping hill that rose to the castle.


	28. Of Folk Tales and Chocolate Cake

“Consist, resist, assist, insist...” Eric ticked the words off of his fingers as he recited them. He was sitting upside-down on the library’s sofa, with his legs propped up against the back of the furniture piece so that his feet dangled in the air. Lying across the sofa’s seat cushions, his head hung partway off the edge, which allowed him to tilt it back to catch a glimpse of his father, who was sitting in an armchair placed opposite of the sofa.

If King Nikolaus noticed his son’s gaze, he did not bother to acknowledge it. Keeping his attention on the book in his lap, he flicked at the corner of the page he was reading, gazing intently at the words.

The twelve-year-old prince sighed. “Enlist, persist, desist...” He gave a humph. “I wish this stupid exercise would desist,” he muttered.

“What was that?” Nikolaus asked, glancing up at his son.

Eric snapped his mouth shut.

Nikolaus frowned. “Eric, I am _well_ aware that this exercise is not a favorite of yours. But it is necessary.”

Eric kicked his foot against the top of the sofa. “Why? It’s not as though I’ll be using the scepter anytime soon.”

“No,” agreed the king. “You likely will not be. But if something happens to me, the scepter’s powers fall to you. And you need to be prepared to use it properly.”

“Whose idea was it to make the scepter need _rhyming_ spells, anyway?” huffed Eric. “Hoffmann doesn’t have such ridiculous rules for _his_ magic.”

A smile pricked at the edge of Nikolaus’ mouth. “Yes, well, it certainly wasn’t _my_ idea. Your great-great-great...” He paused. “Honestly, I don’t remember how many generations back she is.” He gave a shrug. “Some great-grandmother of yours had the scepter made for our family. _She_ was the one who decided that the incantations should be spoken in rhyme. Apparently she was a great lover of poetry.”

Eric made a sound of disgust, prompting a chuckle from his father.

Silence fell between them, and Eric tugged at a stray thread hanging from the sleeve of his shirt. “Why don’t you use it more?” he asked.

Nikolaus glanced up, his attention having fallen back to the book. “Hm?”

“The scepter.”

“Oh.” Nikolaus tapped the book thoughtfully. “It’s a very old, and _very_ powerful object, Eric. It is not meant to be used for trivial things.” He quirked an eyebrow at his son. “Such as conjuring up a platter of one hundred chocolate cakes.”

Eric snickered. “Would you believe me if I said that it was Candy’s idea to ask you for that?”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Nikolaus shook his head in exasperation. “The scepter is best used only in real need, Eric.”

“Yes, yes, I understand,” sighed Eric. He squinted at the book on Nikolaus’ lap, trying to get a better look at it. “What are you reading?”

“A book about Parthenian legends.”

Intrigue sparked in Eric’s eyes. “Is it interesting?”

“Well, _I_ think so.” Nikolaus stood and walked over to the sofa. He waved at his son, and Eric obligingly swung his legs down and rolled over so that he could sit properly on the sofa. Nikolaus settled down beside him and laid the book open over both of their laps. “This chapter is particularly interesting. It’s about prominent magical figures recorded in Parthenia’s history.”

Eric bent over the book. “ _The Sugar Plum Princess_ ,” he read. “ _A magical being of unknown origin. Said to possess extensive powers with the ability to cast or break enchantments of great strength. Is known for her kindness, clever wits, and bravery._ ” Eric cast a doubtful look up at his father. “That’s a fairly vague description.”

Nikolaus gestured to the rest of the passage. “Ah, but here’s the fascinating part. Apparently the Princess has been around for _centuries_. Now,” he said, holding up a finger. “She may be an immortal being of some kind. Perhaps a fairy of some sort. But the book also speculates that the Sugar Plum Princess could be a title that passes on through a bloodline, so that there have actually been _multiple_ Princesses over time.”

Eric frowned, pondering the information. “Does it say where she is?”

Nikolaus shook his head. “No one knows for sure.”

“Hm.” Eric looked up at his father, a playful eagerness in his eyes. “Maybe you and I can go look for her. We’ll even take Candy and the major along. Doesn’t that sound far more exciting than staying here and attending lessons and conferences?”

“As tempting as that is,” smiled Nikolaus. “I’m afraid we’ll have to save such an expedition for another time.”

“Which means never.”

“Now, what kind of attitude is that?” Nikolaus asked. “There are no rules saying that royals can’t have adventures.” He glanced at the clock on the far wall of the library, then closed the book and stood. “But right _now_ , our adventure is getting you to your mathematics lesson.”

Eric groaned, but he obediently slid off the sofa.

Nikolaus patted his son’s shoulder. “However, I don’t think it’s out of the question to ask Masha to bake chocolate cake for dessert tonight. What do you think?”

Despite himself, Eric could not help a grin as he looked up at his father. “As long as it’s a big one.”

Nikolaus laughed. “Of course.”

/

_Four years later…_

Eric had been hoping that Elizabeth would agree to take the book to her niece with a little less interrogation.

“Why is she suddenly so important to you?” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed as she scrutinized him. “This gift? After all this time?”

Eric shuffled awkwardly, unsure how to answer the question. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I just...it just is.”

He relaxed as Elizabeth’s expression softened.

“What do you want to give her?” she asked.

Relieved at Elizabeth’s agreement to deliver his package, Eric led Elizabeth to his bedchamber. She stayed outside, while he went in to retrieve the gift.

There was a small bookshelf by his bedside. It had only two shelves, but they were stuffed full, to the point where a few books had to be laid haphazardly across the others. Eric crouched down, rummaging through them until he spotted the one he was looking for.

Stitched along its leather spine was the title _Parthenian Folk Tales_. Eric pulled it free, then paused, staring at the book that had been shoved onto the shelf beside it. Setting down the folk tales book, Eric reached for the other.

It was the book of Parthenian legends. Eric had borrowed it from the castle’s library some time ago, but had never bothered returning it. He turned it over, then noticed a piece of paper sticking out of the top, acting as a marker.

He opened the book to the marked page. Printed across the top were the words _The Sugar Plum Princess_.

Eric fiddled with the marker in his hand absentmindedly as he skimmed the page. The mystery of the Princess’ whereabouts had been vastly intriguing to him when his father had first told him about it. Now, as he looked over the passage once again, that old interest sparked up again.

He tapped his fingers against the book’s spine and glanced back at _Parthenian Folk Tales_. He would have to read the passage about the Princess more thoroughly later. Tossing the book of legends onto the bookshelf, Eric snatched up _Parthenian Folk Tales_ and hurried back into the corridor.

Elizabeth was surprised, yet impressed, by his gift. Well, it wasn’t a _gift_ , he tried to tell himself. He was merely passing on reading material to his father’s friend’s niece.

Ignoring how ridiculous that reasoning sounded, Eric could not help himself as he asked for the name of the girl. To his delight, Elizabeth complied.

"Clara. Her name is Clara.”

/

“‘ _Please, dear maiden,’ begged the sparrow. ‘Do not leave me here. If you do not help me, I shall never be free.’_

 _Pity told hold of the farm girl’s kind heart. She held out her hand, smiling as the sparrow hopped onto her finger. ‘Of course I shall help you, good sparrow. Tell me what it is you need, and I shall do all that I can to’ –_ ow!”

Clara flinched, her face scrunching up in pain. She lowered _Parthenian Folk Tales_ to her lap to glance up at her aunt, who was brushing her hair.

“Sorry, my dear,” apologized Elizabeth. “But you _must_ hold still.”

Clara squirmed in the chair she was sitting in. “Can’t you put it _all_ up for tonight?” A pleading look seeped into her eyes. “I saw a magazine at the train station this morning showing all sorts of _beautiful_ hairstyles for young women. If I describe one to you, I’m sure you could replicate it.”

“You are _far_ too young to be putting all of your hair up, Clara,” Elizabeth said.

“I’ll be fourteen in a month!” exclaimed Clara. “Please, Aunt Elizabeth. I want to look _elegant_ at the theatre.”

“You’ll look perfectly lovely with your hair down,” Elizabeth said firmly.

Clara huffed in disappointment. She looked back at her book and flipped to the final page of the story she had been reading aloud. The illustration on it showed the now-disenchanted prince standing with the long-lost princess. It was a beautifully painted picture, but Clara could not help frowning as she studied the features of the prince. “I imagined him to have dark hair.”

“Who?” asked Elizabeth.

Clara gestured to the prince, who had been painted with auburn hair. “I always pictured him to have dark brown hair. Or black.” She pursed her lips, critically studying the illustration. “And blue eyes. Not brown.”

Elizabeth lowered the hairbrush. “Why do you say that?” she asked curiously.

Clara shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s only with this book that I have that sensation. It never comes to mind when I read my other fairy tale books.” She sighed, flipping the page back and forth. “It’s so strange.”

Elizabeth studied Clara closely. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. Perhaps there was a boy at school Clara was infatuated with that had dark hair and blue eyes. Or perhaps she simply favored those features.

Or perhaps...

A thrill shot through Elizabeth at the possibility. Clara, possessing magic? Elizabeth had thought about it from time to time, but she had not given it _serious_ contemplation. After all, it was hard to determine which descendants in their family may receive such abilities, as it sometimes skipped one (or several) generations.

Yet it would explain Clara’s imaginary prince.

Elizabeth’s gaze fell to _Parthenian Folk Tales_. According to magic lore, when a person keeps an object of great sentimental value for a long time, part of who they are... _attaches_ to it. Even if they give the object away, some of their aura remains linked to it. Non-magic users would never sense it, of course. But certain magic users might be able to catch particular echoes of who the object’s previous owner had been. Accomplished users could determine full facial images and names, but those who had little to no practice with their magic may only sense vague physical traits. They may not even realize where the images are coming from.

Eric had given the book to Elizabeth only two months ago, so his aura would still be heavily attached to it.

It was possible that this was just a coincidence. Or...it was possible that this was something much more.

A smile curved Elizabeth’s lips. She took two pieces of Clara’s hair and twisted them around to pin up, leaving the rest to cascade down Clara’s back in glossy waves.

She would have to keep a closer eye on her niece.

“Well, go on, then,” prompted Elizabeth. “What happens next in the story?”

Clara blinked, tearing her gaze away from illustration of the prince. She adjusted the book in her hands and flipped back to the page she had left off on. Shifting in her chair, she resumed reading.

“‘ _...tell me what it is you need, and I shall do all that I can to help.’_

‘ _First,’ said the sparrow. ‘You_ _have_ _to travel to the Rosemary Forest...’_ ”


	29. Attrition Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...so, this is kind of a massive change in tone? It’s definitely my darkest story for A Simple Touch. I’m not sure how this will be received, but the plot idea’s been nagging at me, and I already wrote up some later scenes for it, so I’m gonna go ahead and post it. We’ll see how this goes.

“Walther? Have you seen Marie?”

Walther turned to face Clara, who was walking up the corridor towards him. He had just emerged from the castle’s library, and was carrying a stack of rather thick books. Clara eyed the books nervously, worried about the strain on the elderly man. But Walther seemed to have little trouble with the burden, and he smiled at her warmly.

Clara was relieved at how perfectly Walther fit into castle life; it felt as though he had always been there, even though he had come only a few years ago. Just before Marie’s forth birthday, Herr Drosselmeyer had suffered from a stroke. He had passed away soon after, leaving most of his possessions to Clara and Tommy. Clara and Eric had gone to Germany to settle affairs following her grandfather’s death, and she managed to persuade Walther to accompany them back to Parthenia. Tommy had been making plans to move there soon anyway, so he came along as well.

Though Tommy was ecstatic to finally settle in Parthenia, Walther seemed to have especially benefited from the change. A new sort of vibrance had taken hold of him. Even now, in his mid-seventies, he carried himself with a spryness Clara was amazed by.

Walther adjusted the books in his arms. “Not for a few hours. Though I’m sure she will turn up soon, as I am to meet her for her literature lesson in a quarter of an hour.”

Clara nodded. Marie was rarely late to her lessons, a difference from her father Clara was vastly grateful for, so Clara was sure that Marie was not far. “Thank you, Walther. I’ll be sure to send her your way when I find her.” She paused. “Do you need help? Those books look rather heavy.”

“Heavy? Nonsense,” huffed Walther. He heaved the volumes up higher against his chest. “Hardly weigh a thing.”

“Well...if you insist.” Clara patted Walther’s shoulder as she moved past him, continuing down the corridor.

She had a suspicion as to Marie’s whereabouts, and was glad to hear the familiar tinkering of piano keys when she eventually approached the doors to the castle’s music room. Pushing them open, she stepped inside.

The far wall of the music room was made of curving glass windows, allowing for an extraordinary amount of natural light to filter into the large space. Various instruments had been set up throughout the room, and shelves had been built into one of the walls, upon which were hundreds of instrumental books and sheet music. Near the window wall was a grand piano, and sitting on its bench were two figures.

Playing the piano was Marie. She was a slender girl, and though she still had much growing to do, she looked as though she had the potential to become rather tall in the future. There was a maturity to her that was surprising to see in a nine-year-old, but it was tinted with a humor that seemed to always linger at the edge of her expression. Her eyes, intently focused on the piano, sparkled with an intelligence that deepened their blue shade.

Beside her sat Eric. He watched her fingers move over the keys with rapt attention, though every once in a while he would glance up at his daughter’s face. An adoring smile curved his lips, and it only widened when he noticed Clara approach.

Clara had no idea what song Marie was playing, but it was a pleasant melody that complemented the cheerfulness of the morning. Smiling, she settled onto the piano bench so that Marie was in-between her and Eric.

Marie’s fingers plucked out the final notes of the song, and the music dissipated into the air of the sunlit room. Looking rather pleased with herself, Marie swiveled her head from side to side to glance at both of her parents. “What do you think?” she asked.

“I think it’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever head,” declared Eric. “We’ll have to have you play it at the charity ball.”

Marie beamed, looking excited at the idea.

“It was absolutely lovely, my darling,” praised Clara.

Anticipation flashed in Marie’s eyes as she watched Clara’s face. “Did you recognize the song?” she asked eagerly.

Clara frowned as she thought. “No,” she admitted. “I didn’t. Did Aunt Elizabeth buy you new sheet music?”

“No. It’s one of _mine_ ,” said Marie proudly.

“ _You_ composed it?” asked Clara. She stared at Marie in astonishment. “Why Marie, that’s wonderful!”

Marie grinned. Then she turned to Eric and held out her hand triumphantly. “Ha! I told you.”

Eric shook his head as he pulled out a gold coin from his pocket. “Swindled by the princess,” he grumbled teasingly, dropping the coin into Marie’s waiting hand.

Clara looked at the two in confusion.

“I bet Papa that you would think my song was professionally composed,” explained Marie. She pocketed the coin and tossed her father a victorious smile.

Eric gave her a wink. “Well, one could interpret that as me thinking your music _surpasses_ that of any old sheet music here.”

Marie laughed. “Sure, Papa.”

Clara tucked a strand of Marie’s hair behind her ear. “Well, now that you’ve relieved your father of his money, why don’t you head down to your literature lesson? Walther had quite the stack of books for you.” She stood and moved back, giving Marie room to get off the bench.

Marie sighed, gazing adoringly at the piano. “Alright.” She hopped to the floor. “But can I come back to practice after lunch?”

“Of course,” said Clara.

Looking happy with this ultimatum, Clara hurried out of the room.

“She certainly has a better attitude about her lessons than I ever did,” commented Eric.

“Thank the heavens,” teased Clara. She slid back onto the bench, pressing up against Eric’s side. “Well,” she prompted. “Aren’t you going to play something?”

“I’m afraid I can’t really compare to Marie,” said Eric. He poised his hands over the keys. “But...” He paused, then began to play. It was a simple song, one Clara knew was from a beginner’s piano book, but it was a cheerful enough tune. He only made it a few bars into the song before striking a wrong note. Eric smirked, unconcerned as he continued. He wrapped his arm around Clara’s back, straining with exaggeration as he reached for the far keys to play the song an octave higher. Clara laughed and lifted her hand to the piano, playing alongside him on the correct octave. But she soon fumbled as well, prompting a laugh from Eric.

“Oh dear,” said Clara as they finished. “We’re rather terrible, aren’t we?”

“Awful,” agreed Eric, keeping his arm around Clara. “It seems all of our talent went to Marie.”

“Well, that’s fortunate for her, at least.” Clara smiled up at Eric. “Luckily, your dancing makes up for your lack of instrumental skills.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that’s true.”

Clara chuckled, shaking her head.

/

“We’ve invited three hundreds guests to the charity ball next month,” said Clara. She tugged at a loose strand of hair hanging by her ear as she eyed the list in her hand. “Some will decline, but we should be sure to make a suitable excess of food, as people do like to bring their friends, invited or not.”

Masha grunted. “I’ll have to nearly double the amount, if you’ve invited the same guests who attended last year. The sight of all those pompous nobles stuffing themselves certainly staved off _my_ appetite for the remainder of that evening.”

“Yes, well, many of the same nobles _have_ been invited again.”

“Including the Duke of Fleer?” snorted Masha.

Clara lifted a hand to her mouth in a poor attempt to hide a smile. “Yes.”

“Better add an additional three platters just for him.”

Clara stifled a laugh.

The Duke of Fleer was known for his love of food – sweets especially. He had been an excessively jovial guest at last year’s charity ball, especially so once the food and drink had been brought. Two hours into the celebrations and he was unable to rise from his chair in his drunken stupor, his massive belly protruding from his waistline. He fell asleep in his seat, snoring loudly despite the festivities going on around him. Both Eric and Marie had found it altogether highly amusing.

As Clara’s thoughts drifted from the memory back to the present, she sobered, concern pricking the edges of her mind. She wondered whether they should be considering delaying the charity ball this year. With what had been happening along the southern border, it seemed rather trivial to worry about such an event right now.

Feeling Masha’s gaze on her, Clara blinked and lifted her head, dispersing the thoughts. She would have to talk to Eric about it later. “Right,” she said. “Well, we’ll have to be sure that –”

“Clara?”

Clara and Masha turned to see Eric standing at the entrance doors to the kitchens.

“Yes, what is it?” asked Clara.

Eric glanced between her and Masha. “When you’re done here, I need to speak with you privately.”

There was an unsettling wariness in Eric’s tone. Frowning, Clara looked at Masha. A concerned crease had appeared on Masha’s brow as she studied Eric, but she waved at Clara. “Go on,” she said. “We can finish this later.”

Clara hesitated, then nodded and walked to Eric’s side. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Eric took Clara’s arm and gently steered her into the outside corridor. “We’ll talk about it in the study,” he said.

Clara’s frown deepened, but she did not press him further. Quickly, they made their way to Eric’s study.

“Alright,” Clara said once Eric had shut the door. “What is this about?”

“I’m assuming you haven’t forgotten about those bodies that had been found along the southern border,” said Eric grimly. “The ones that had been…drained.” He spoke the last word hesitantly, as though uncertain that that was the best description to use.

Honestly, none of them had been quite sure _how_ to explain what had happened to the bodies. A farmer had found the first one a month ago, hidden in the brush near a river running along Parthenia’s southern border. No one knew what the cause of death was, but it looked as though the man had… _shriveled_ up. It was as if someone had sucked out all the water from his body, leaving him shrunken and disfigured. In fact, it had reminded Clara of the mummies she and Tommy had seen when Elizabeth had taken them to a museum in Berlin as children.

A second body had turned up not far from the first, only a few days later. In the weeks since, Clara and Eric had been working to discover the cause of the deaths. Which often became difficult with their attempts to keep the ever-curious Marie ignorant of it all.

“What about them?” Clara asked cautiously.

Apprehension flickered through Eric’s eyes. He lifted his hand, running it through his hair. “Two more bodies were found.”

“ _Two_ more?”

Eric nodded. “They were at least ten miles away the first two, but they were still along the southern border.”

Clara’s mouth gaped open. “When were they found?”

“The third one was about a week ago. I only just received news about the forth this morning.”

“And you neglected to tell me about the third one before today _why_?”

Eric grimaced. “I suppose I just hadn’t had time to tell you. You’ve been so busy this week –”

“That’s no excuse,” Clara snapped. “You should have told me straight away.”

“I know,” said Eric. “I’m sorry. I was going to, but I wanted to know what we were dealing with first.”

Clara glared at him, annoyed at having been kept from this knowledge. Crossing her arms, she silently waited for him to continue.

Eric released a sigh. “Well, it wasn’t until the third body was examined that the major, Candy, and I started to develop a more solid theory as to what had happened. I had both Doctor Astros and Hoffmann examine them, as I was suspicious that something magical may have been involved. I was right, in a way.” He gave her a grim look. “Clara, all of the victims had had magical abilities.”

“That’s an interesting link between them, but it doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” said Clara. “Magical beings are not exactly uncommon in Parthenia.”

Eric shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. They were targeted _because_ of their magic. Clara…those bodies were like that because someone had drained them of their magic. _All_ of it.”

Clara stared at Eric, dumbfounded. A long second passed before she finally spoke. “Can that be done? I’ve never heard of someone being able to _steal_ another’s magic.”

“Neither have I,” said Eric. “But there are rare beings that have that ability, apparently. Hoffmann admitted to having heard of a few of them in his youth, which is why he was able to recognize the signs in the victims.” He rapped his knuckles against the desk’s surface in a rather agitated manner. “Clara, someone is _feeding_ off of magical people in Parthenia.”

Stunned, Clara fell quiet. She rubbed her fingers over her mouth, her brows drawing together as she digested this new information.

“Do you have any idea as to who, or _what_ , is doing this?” she finally asked.

Eric shook his head. “They’re not human, of that Hoffmann is sure. At least, they aren’t anymore.”

Clara frowned. “And the victims were all found along the southern border.”

“Yes.”

A sudden thought came to Clara. Disgust coursed through her at the possibility, but it made sense. “Eric…there is one person who may know who’s responsible for this.” She grimaced. “He has gone further beyond the southern borders than you and I have ever been. If anyone could give us some information, it would be him.”

Eric’s eyes narrowed as he realized who she was referring to. “You want to ask _him_?” He scowled. “I doubt he knows anything about it.”

Clara cocked an eyebrow. “He had spent an extensive amount of time in that area. And we still have no idea where he had learned his magic. It is very likely that he knows something.”

Eric looked unconvinced.

“Or,” said Clara coolly. “We could just wait for a fifth body to show up.”

Eric frowned at her. Then he gave a defeated sigh. “Fine. We’ll see what he has to say.”

/

Once the situation had been explained to Elizabeth, who now permanently resided at the castle, she agreed to watch Marie in Eric and Clara’s absence. Their destination, one of Parthenia’s most remote prisons, was a three-day journey, so they hoped to leave within the next few hours. Captain Candy and Rodolph were to accompany them, along with three of Rodolph’s men, but that was all. Eric preferred to keep the group as small as possible, so as not to draw attention while traveling.

The explanation they gave Marie for their departure was purposefully vague, as they had no desire for her to know its gruesome details. It was a bland excuse about meeting some diplomat on the southern border, which Marie was suspicious of right away. But her prodding did little to provide her with clear answers, and she was forced to accept her parents’ story.

“But you’ll be back soon, won’t you?” asked Marie.

“Yes,” reassured Clara. “We won’t be more than a week.”

“Promise?”

“We promise,” said Eric. He kissed Marie’s forehead. “Watch for us from the south tower.”

By mid-afternoon they were gone. They encountered no trouble on the road, and arrived at the prison three days later with little problem. All of them were weary from the journey, and eager to rest at a nearby inn, but Eric and Clara wanted to speak with their potential source first. The threat of a fifth victim turning up was too high of a possibility for them to risk delaying any longer.

“Are you alright?” Eric murmured to Clara.

One of the head guards was leading them down a corridor in the prison. It was lined with cell doors, from which occasionally emitted the sounds of prisoners muttering or scuffling about. A damp chill clung to the prison, which was lit only by the flickering torches on the walls.

Clara restrained herself from reaching for Eric. Fear thundered in her chest at the thought of who they were to meet, yet she fought to control it, not wanting Eric to worry.

But then Eric threaded his fingers through hers, she was unable to help herself as she clutched his hand tightly.

“You don’t have to speak with him, Clara,” Eric said, his voice low so as to keep their conversation private. _You don’t have to see the man who kidnapped you._ “Don’t feel as though you are obligated to.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “But I am,” said Clara. “This is important; we need to do this together.”

Eric released an uneasy breath as he returned the pressure on her palm.

They rounded a corner, stopping before a cell that had been set back into a particularly dim corner of the prison. Through the bars of the cell door a single cot could be seen, along with a small table and chair. Sitting at the table was the hunched figure of a man, who was intently writing in a book by candlelight.

Clara released Eric’s hand, though she stayed close enough so that their arms continued to touch. She lifted her chin in a manner fit for a queen, watching the prisoner with a cool gaze.

The guard banged his fist on the door’s bars. “You have visitors,” he said gruffly. “The king and queen want to speak with you.”

The man stilled. Slowly, he straightened in his seat, setting down his quill with deliberate care.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said the guard. “I’ll be just down the corridor if you need me.”

Eric nodded his thanks, but he kept his eyes on the man in the cell.

It was only when the guard’s footsteps faded that the prisoner moved again. He stood, keeping his back to the door. He held his stance for a long moment, as though savoring the heavy silence that had settled between him and Eric and Clara. Then he turned to face them.

“Your Majesties, how _wonderful_ it is to see you again.”

Johan Vogt smiled, sweeping his arm outward as he gave Eric and Clara an elegant bow.


	30. Attrition Part II

“My, this _is_ a surprise.” Vogt straightened, a mocking smile on his lips.

Clara knew that they were in no danger from Vogt here. The prison had enchantments on it that rendered anyone inside its grounds unable to use magic. Even Clara was not exempt from it. She could feel its effects as she stood there – a slight pressure that was just barely noticeable. A shadow of fatigue that made her body feel faintly heavier than normal as it stifled her magic.

Yet the knowledge that Vogt could not harm them did little to ease her mind in his presence.

Years in the prison had not been kind to Vogt. The handsomeness of his features had faded beneath the prison’s grim atmosphere, hardened and coarse from the labor prisoners were expected to undertake. His hair, greasy and long enough to brush his shoulders, had been pulled back and tied in what might have been an attempt of cleanliness on Vogt’s part. The dreary olive-gray color scheme of the prison clothes gave Vogt a sickly pallor to his skin, making him look ghostly in the cell light.

Yet despite his bedraggled appearance, Vogt still managed to carry himself with the arrogant dignity he had maintained since serving beneath Eric’s father. Smirking, Vogt eyed Clara. “All these years later, and you still look as beautiful as ever, my queen. You _are_ quite the sight for sore eyes.”

Eric tightened his jaw. “Be careful, Vogt,” he warned. “Remember that you are here, and not on the executioner’s block, because of me.”

Vogt chuckled. “Yes, I suppose I am meant to find comfort in that.” He smiled brightly at Eric, as if they were old friends merely catching up. “I’ve heard news that there is a princess gracing the castle halls now. How magnificent! Little Marie is the child’s name, is it not?”

Clara felt Eric tense beside her. She glared at Vogt, fury shooting through her at hearing him speak their daughter’s name.

Vogt glanced innocently between the two of them. “Which parent does she favor in terms of appearance? I do hope it’s the mother. Is there any possibility of my meeting her?”

“There is as much a chance of you meeting her as there is of you ever being a free man again,” snapped Clara. “Enough with your false pleasantries, Vogt. We are not here to indulge your thirst for companionship; we are here on business.”

Vogt gave another chuckle. “Of course, Your Majesty. Do forgive my audacious inquiries. How may I be of assistance?”

Eric exchanged a glance with Clara before answering. “There have been attacks along the southern border,” said Eric grimly. “Four victims have been found, though there may be more that we don’t know about.”

“And why should that concern me?” asked Vogt, sounding bored.

“The bodies were...drained. Dried up.” Eric paused, distrust in his eyes as he studied Vogt. “Someone had stolen their magic. All of it.”

“ _Ah_. Now that _is_ intriguing.” Vogt gestured at Eric. “And you came to me because you have no idea who it could be?” He let out a short laugh. “Why should I possess such information?”

“You were exiled to the lands south of Parthenia,” said Clara. “You know the region, you know the people there. Surely you have _some_ idea of who this could be.”

“No.” Vogt shook his head. “That’s not what you came to me for. You came because you think I _personally_ know the person responsible for this.” He gave Clara an amused look. “You think I may have learned how to use my magic from them.”

“Did you?” Clara asked sharply.

Vogt merely smiled.

“Why do you insist on keeping this information secret?” Eric said, annoyed. “Doing so will help you achieve nothing now. Are you afraid of what may happen if whoever taught you finds out you’ve spoken to us?”

“If I were, I would be right to,” scoffed Vogt. “Betraying _her_ is not something done lightly.”

“Betrayal was never difficult for you before,” commented Eric.

Vogt threw Eric a scathing look. “If done for the right price, betrayal is always something worth contemplating. Loyalty based on nothing but trust and honor is something that can be too easily broken. Incentive that guarantees a profit is what drives the will of men.”

“You hold a very unfortunate view of the world,” Clara said.

Vogt shrugged. “I’m a practical man, not a dreamer.”

Eric made a sound of disgust. “Very well then.” He gestured to the cell bars. “Here’s your incentive: getting out of this prison.”

Genuine surprise flashed over Vogt’s face.

“Mind you, I do not mean to _free_ you,” Eric continued. “But if you cooperate, we can arrange to make you far more comfortable then you’d ever be here. You’ll be taken to an isolated estate at the edge of Parthenia’s borders – void of magic, of course. There, you’ll be allowed to roam the grounds and house. You cannot leave the estate, but you will be permitted supervised monthly visits from friends or family who may wish to see you. Naturally, there will be permanent guards there to ensure you adhere to these guidelines.” He gave Vogt a firm look. “That is our offer.”

“My, that _does_ sound rather wonderful, doesn’t it?” Vogt tapped his chin. “What _exactly_ do you want to know about your potential suspect?”

“Everything,” said Eric. “What they are, their name, location, the type of magic they possess, and _why_ they are doing this.”

Vogt snorted. “That is quite a bit of information.”

“Giving you a private estate after you tried to murder the king of Parthenia is quite the reward,” said Clara coldly.

“Yes, well, I suppose I could have been a bit less sloppy about that. Then we wouldn’t be having this conversation in such an unfortunate setting.” Vogt glanced around his cell disdainfully. “My mistake, though.” His gaze traveled back to Eric and Clara. “As tempting as your offer is, it still isn’t quite enough. _She_ is far more powerful than either of you realize; I would be a fool to not guarantee my own safety before divulging any of her secrets to you.”

“What more could you possibly want that we would be willing to give you?” said Clara.

“I want to be taken back to the castle,” answered Voft. “Until all of this unpleasant business is done.” He waved his hand at their surroundings. “This place is _far_ closer to the southern borders than the castle, a fact that makes me rather uncomfortable if I am to give out such delicate information. I want the protection that the castle provides.”

“Fine,” said Eric irritably. “You’ll be taken there until we can move you to the estate.”

“And –” Vogt held up his finger. “While I’m at the castle...I want to meet your daughter.”

“ _No_.” Clara response was immediate, the single word burning in its ferocity.

Vogt laughed. “Why not? I assure you, I mean the child no harm. I am merely curious.”

Eric clenched his fists at his sides. “You will be given the castle’s protection. But you will not meet our daughter.”

“Why deny such a simple request?” asked Vogt in amusement. “You act as though you have other options beyond speaking to me. _I_ have the information you want.”

“You forget your place, Vogt,” snapped Eric. “If you will not cooperate, we will find our answers elsewhere. Yes, it may take longer, but it will be done. Now – will you accept our offer, or not?”

Vogt rubbed the uneven beard shadowing his face, his expression thoughtful. He sighed. “Very well. I accept.” He lowered his hand. “The creature you’re looking for – her name is Amaranth.”

“Amaranth?” repeated Clara. “Who is she?”

“A witch,” said Vogt. “A rather old one, actually.”

“A witch?” Eric frowned. “Witches don’t have enough power to perform such acts.”

“She’s not a _regular_ witch. She’s a maceri witch.”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Not many people have,” said Vogt. “They are a rather rare sort of breed.”

“What differentiates them from regular witches, then?” asked Eric.

“Regular witches get their magic from nature,” explained Vogt. “The trees, crops, rivers, even the weather. They harvest it, like a bee drawing out nectar, to use as their magic’s source. Maceri witches, though, get _their_ magic from other living beings.” Vogt smiled at Clara. “Aren’t you fortunate, Your Majesty, that your magic does not require such tedious tasks.”

“We’re not here to discuss Clara,” said Eric in warning. “Stay on topic, Vogt.”

Vogt shrugged. “Well, as for maceri witches, their harvesting only needs to be done every decade or so. They can store up their magic for an impressive amount of time.” He gave Eric a smug look. “As long as they harvest enough of it. And I can promise you, four victims is not enough.”

“How do you know Amaranth is the witch we’re looking for?” questioned Clara.

“Because maceri witches are _very_ scarce,” replied Vogt. “They don’t like being near each other, and they don’t often move around. The southern border is Amaranth’s territory.”

“And that’s where you met her,” Eric said.

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t sound like someone who would waste her time teaching an exiled lord magic,” said Clara suspiciously. “Why would she bother with you?”

Vogt gave Clara a coy look. “I can be _very_ persuasive _._ ” He smiled, though it was an unnerving expression in the shadows of his cell. “I also assisted in finding her magical beings to use, as my exile had been during her last harvest. That seemed to satisfy her enough to teach me some basic skills.”

Clara and Eric stared at Vogt in horror.

“You helped her obtain victims?” Clara drew back, disgusted by this new confession.

Vogt simply laughed. “Oh, come now, Your Majesties, is that so surprising? I am already serving a life sentence, so I’m not sure what else you can do to remedy my past crimes.”

“We can give you to Amaranth,” growled Eric. “I wonder how merciful she’ll be, once she knows what you’ve told us.”

Alarm flickered through Vogt’s eyes at that threat.

Clara rested her hand on Eric’s arm. “We will look further into these claims of yours, Vogt,” she said, her revulsion for Vogt clear in her tone. “But for now, tell us where Amaranth is.”

“Well now, see I’m not sure you two would know how to get there,” said Vogt. “You royals rarely bother going beyond Parthenia’s borders. Such trips are far beneath you, I’m sure.”

Eric dipped his hand into his jacket. He pulled out a folded sheet of parchment, and opened it to reveal a map of Parthenia. It was rather extensive, illustrating at least a day’s travel worth of lands beyond the kingdom on all sides. “Here,” said Eric. “Mark it for us. Despite how ignorant we royals are, I’m sure we’ll manage somehow.”

Vogt frowned at Eric’s sarcasm. He watched intently as Eric reached through the cell bars, extending the map towards him.

Fear rose in Clara’s throat as Eric’s hand passed through the bars. He was too close to Vogt. Far too close. She opened her mouth to say his name, call him back, stop him…

Vogt’s gaze lingered on Eric’s outstretched hand for a fleeting moment. Then he snatched the map from Eric and walked over to the table in his cell.

Clara exhaled a low sigh of relief. Eric glanced at her questioningly, but she shook her head.

Bending over the tale, Vogt scribbled hastily on the map. Then he went back to the cell door and thrust it forward. “Here,” he muttered.

Eric took the map. He held it out before him and Clara, tilting it towards the torchlight as they studied the markings Vogt had made.

“She’s only about a day’s journey south of Mapletown,” mused Eric.

Mapletown was one of the most southern towns in Parthenia. It rested just on the border, and was about a two-day trip from the prison. Eric moved his finger along the road leading away from the town, pausing at the circle drawn around the northern entrance to a ravine called Raven’s Pass.

“Altogether, that’s another three days of travel from here,” said Clara dismally.

“Why is Amaranth being so careless now?” asked Eric, looking back up at Vogt. “We’ve never seen signs of her before, and my father certainly never dealt with a maceri witch.”

Vogt gave a shrug. “She’s old – _ancient_ , really. Probably nearing five hundred years by now. It is likely that age or pride has made her no longer bother with remaining discrete. Which can be either a very good, or very bad, thing for you.”

Clara frowned. “How do we stop her?”

“Now that _would_ be a useful piece of information, wouldn’t it?” Vogt asked humorously. “Unfortunately, she neglected to tell me that.”

Eric handed the map to Clara and stepped closer to the cell door. “Is that the truth, Vogt? Or are you refusing to tell us in hopes of getting us killed?”

“It _is_ the truth,” said Vogt. He smirked. “Though I do like the potential of that second idea.”

Eric thrust his hand through the bars, grabbing a handful of Vogt’s shirt to pull him close. “Innocent people are dying, Vogt,” he snarled. “And now you make light of putting my men and wife in danger? If there is anything else you know of Amaranth, it is in your best interests to tell us now. For if Clara is harmed, our deal is off. You go back to this cell, and I’ll personally bury the key.” He gave Vogt a harsh shove, sending him staggering backwards. Abhorrence in his eyes, Eric returned to Clara’s side.

Clara reassuringly brushed her hand against Eric’s arm, careful to keep the action hidden from Vogt’s view.

Vogt stumbled into his cell’s chair. He grabbed at it to regain his balance, chuckling as he turned back to face Eric and Clara. “Well now, that wasn’t very fitting of a king.” He straightened, brushing his shirt off. “I assure you, _Your Majesty_ , that I have told you all that I know about Amaranth. Her destruction is in _your_ hands now; I am not responsible for anything that may happen from you hunting her down.”

Silence stretched between them. Eric scrutinized Vogt closely, searching his face for any hint of deception. Finally, Eric turned away from Vogt. Clara did the same, and together they walked back down the corridor.

“Our deal?” Vogt called after them.

“We’ll be back in the morning for you,” Eric said, not bothering to turn around. He and Clara rounded the corner of the corridor, both eager to be free of the suffocating prison.

They were escorted back to their waiting horses and off of the prison grounds without delay. Rodolph and his men met them at the prison gates, and together the group made their way to the inn.

The innkeeper received the king and queen of Parthenia with flustered excitement when they arrived. Despite Eric and Clara’s insistence on having a regular room, the innkeeper would have none of it, and put them in the largest one she had. Yet to their gratitude, the innkeeper was careful not to hover over them. Once she had made sure that they were comfortable, she left them in peace.

Clara sighed in relief as she settled onto the bed in her and Eric’s room, patting her wet hair with a towel. She had just finished taking a bath, and the feeling of ridding herself of the road’s dirt and dust was heavenly after such a long day.

A faint scent of ginger and maple blanketed the room, and Clara studied her surroundings curiously. On the fireplace mantle a glass bowl had been filled with various cookies and sweets, and Clara wondered if they were the source of the intoxicating aroma. Or perhaps the room itself had been charmed to emit the scent. Regardless, the comfort it provided was something Clara was vastly grateful for, after the confrontation at the prison.

While she had been washing, Eric had gone downstairs to talk with Rodolph. But that had been some time ago. She frowned, wondering what was keeping him.

Clara glanced up at the sound of the room’s door opening. Eric stood there, an uncomfortable look on his face. In his hands was the map, which he turned over in a nervous manner.

Clara paused. “Eric, what’s wrong?”

Eric stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Clara, I...” The words trailed off, and he shook his head. He tapped the map against his palm in agitation, conflict burning in his eyes.

Clara set aside the towel. “Eric, what is it?”

Eric’s gaze locked onto hers with an unexpected intensity. He stilled his movements with the map, lowering his hands to his sides. “Clara...” He heaved a sigh. “I’ve been thinking. About everything. The bodies that were found, what Vogt told us about Amaranth...how we still have _no_ idea what it will take to stop her. We’re going into this mostly blind. But we _do_ know the kinds of victims Amaranth takes: those who posses magic. And...” He hesitated. “I want you to bring Vogt back to the castle. Without me.”

Clara blinked at Eric. “What?”

“Candy will go with you. We’ll have some guards from the prison accompany you both, so you won’t have any problems handling Vogt.”

“I don’t care about _Vogt_ ,” said Clara. She stood, alarm in her eyes. “What about _you_?”

Eric grimaced. “I’m taking Rodolph and his men, and we’re going to go after Amaranth. I’ve already talked with Rodolph, and we’re leaving in the morning.”

Clara gaped at him. “I’m sorry, and who are you to make that decision without me?” Anger coursed through her shock, drenching her words in a stony coldness. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you aren’t, Clara.”

Clara raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

Eric tossed the map onto a chair near the door. “You aren’t coming. Not when you are exactly what Amaranth is looking for in her victims.”

“ _That’s_ why? You think I’m too much of a liability?”

Eric cringed. “That’s not what I meant. I –”

“You are _not_ leaving me behind, Eric.”

“Clara, I appreciate your fervor in wanting to help, I really do. But you _cannot_ come,” Eric said firmly.

“I can take care of myself,” Clara snapped.

“I know you can. But Amaranth is draining people of their _magical energy_. Sapping them of every once of it until there is nothing left but a shell.” He set his jaw. “There is no chance I would ever let you go near her. Your magic is _legendary_ , Clara – it is exactly what she would want. And she _will_ take it. Every last bit of it.” His voice was tight with tension. “I won’t be responsible for that.”

“Do you have so little faith in my ability to protect myself?” asked Clara. She waved her hand at his traveling bag, where the scepter was hidden. “And what about _you_? You are the only one who can properly control the scepter.”

“It’s a magical object I use. I don’t have magic _in_ me. It’s completely different.”

“Surely that requires _some_ magic. The scepter is too powerful for any non-magical person to use.”

Eric sighed. “If there _is_ magic in my bloodline, it would be _very_ minimal. There is likely only just enough to link me to the scepter, and that’s it. It is hardly enough to draw Amaranth’s attention.”

“Well isn’t that convenient for _you_ ,” scoffed Clara. She gritted her teeth. “You cannot leave me behind, Eric. I won’t let you go by yourself.”

“I won’t be by myself. I’ll be with Rodolph and other _non-magical_ soldiers.”

“How do we know she can even steal my magic?” said Clara, her face brightening by this new possibility. “Theda’s spell did not work on me; my magic protected me then.”

Eric grimaced at the mention of Theda. “Yes, your magic protected you then. But I doubt Theda’s abilities were anywhere near as powerful as Amaranth’s. Clara, we have _no_ idea what we are up against.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” said Clara fiercely. “Which is why we need to go back to the castle, _together_ , and come up with a real plan before charging after her.”

Eric shook his head. “We can’t.”

“What do you mean, we can’t?” demanded Clara. “Are you simply going to take the scepter and your four men, and hope for the best? Don’t be foolish, Eric.”

“Clara, I don’t have _time_ to travel back home.” Agitated, Eric ran a hand through his hair. “While I was downstairs with Rodolph, I received a message from from the castle.”

Surprise broke through Clara’s vexation. “You did?”

Eric nodded. “It was from one of Elizabeth’s owls.”

Clara had been wondering if they would receive any messages from her aunt. Elizabeth’s message-carrying owls were extremely fast – enhanced by magic, of course. Having one arrive here was not surprisingly, though it was worrying. Knowing how occupied Eric and Clara already were, Elizabeth would only send them something if it was of great importance.

“A fifth body was found yesterday,” said Eric.

Clara stared at him. “So soon after the others? But we had weeks in-between the first ones and the more recent ones.”

“Well, it seems that Amaranth is becoming more active,” said Eric. He sighed in frustration. “Traveling back to the castle would take another three days. And even if we make a straight shot from the castle to Mapletown, it’s still a four day journey. We don’t _have_ that kind of time, Clara. I have to go directly to Mapletown from here, before Amaranth kills someone else.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No, Clara, you _aren’t_.”

“You cannot leave me behind!” cried Clara. “You may not possess magic, but she could still kill you, Eric.”

“And if she kills _both_ of us, then what?” demanded Eric. “You would orphan Marie? Leave her to grow up without either of her parents?”

Fury blazed through Clara – and terror of how openly Eric spoke of their possible deaths. “And if she grows up knowing her mother did nothing to protect her father? What then?” Her rising voice trembled as she spoke. “ _What then?_ ”

Guilt flickered over Eric’s face. “I refuse to take you anywhere near Amaranth, knowing what she could do to you. _Please_ , Clara, see reason.”

“Reason has long fled _your_ mind, if you think this is a wise plan,” Clara retorted. “Don’t you see how foolhardy this is? We work better _together_ , Eric. You protect me, and I protect you. Isn’t that what we promised each other?”

Eric glanced away, his expression pained. “I will not risk your safety, Clara. Not when you are exactly what she wants.”

“You speak of me as though I’m nothing more than a prize,” Clara said in disgust.

Eric looked back at her. “That’s _exactly_ what you are to her. The moment she realizes who you are, _what_ you are, _you_ will be her sole focus.” His voice was strained. “And I don’t know if I can protect you, Clara. I wish I could guarantee your safety, but I _can’t_.” A look of the utmost desperation settled over his face. “ _Please_ , Clara.”

Unable to match gazes with him, Clara turned away, tears in her eyes. She shook her head, though she wasn’t sure what she was objecting to – Eric’s pleading, the impossibility of his absurd plan, or the overall horribleness of the situation.

Eric approached her cautiously. He stopped before her, but kept his hands at his sides. “Clara, I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know you don’t like this. I just...” He sighed, unable to find the correct words. “I cannot bear the thought of Amaranth doing to you what she’s done to others. You must understand why I cannot let you come.” He held his hand out imploringly. “Please, Clara – I’m doing this because I love you.”

Clara was quiet, absorbing his words as she contemplated their options. Finally her shoulders drooped in dejection. “Eric,” she murmured. “I know you are worried for me. I understand why. But if you get hurt, and I could have done something to prevent that...”

Eric reached for her. When Clara did not pull away, he cupped her face. “I promise to be careful,” he said. “I won’t do anything ‘stupid or reckless.’” He smiled sadly. “Isn’t that what you asked of me before I confronted the Mouse King?”

Clara made a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. “Yes, and you didn’t listen.” She covered his hands with her own. “I’ll return to the castle,” she whispered. “To watch over Marie. I don’t feel that any place is safe for her right now, with Vogt going there and Amaranth roaming Parthenia.” She tightened her grip. “But you must come back to us, Eric. You _must_.”

“I will.” But the promise sounded unsure – a weak hope that both of them knew he had no real control over keeping.

Tears freely flowed from Clara’s eyes now. She placed her hands on Eric’s neck, pulling him into a fervent kiss. Eric wrapped his arms around her, his hands tangling in her hair as he embraced her. The smell of soap on her skin mingled with the scent of dust and pine covering Eric, who had yet to wash off after traveling. It was a comforting earthy smell, and she drew him closer, breathing it in.

She needed to be with him, now more than ever. Somehow, Eric’s decision to leave seemed more final than any other parting they had gone through. She felt as though the strands of time had finally run out beneath them, and try as she might, she had been unable to grasp them and hold on.

_Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind. Come back with me._ The pleas thundered in her head as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt where it had come untucked, feeling the heat of his body beneath her trembling palms. But she did not voice them. She couldn’t.

Eric emitted a groan, though it sounded more like an expression of misery over the ultimatum they were faced with, rather than merely from a physical sensation. He bent and scooped her up in his arms, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. “I’m here,” he breathed. “I’m here now. I’ll come back. _I promise._ ”

Clara closed her eyes against the desperate vow. She turned and kissed his neck, sinking her hands into his hair.

Yes, he was here now. But tomorrow, he would be gone.

And so would she.


	31. Attrition Part III

“I don’t like this, Eric.”

Eric gave the strap holding his traveling pack to his horse’s saddle a yank, tightening it. He glanced at Captain Candy, who was watching him nervously.

“None of us do,” said Eric. “But what other option do we have?”

“Going back to the castle. Bringing back _real_ reinforcements.”

“And risk Amaranth killing another in that week lost to travel?”

Candy grimaced. He shifted his crossed arms against his chest, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “I should be going with you.”

Eric rested his hand on Candy’s shoulder. “I’ll have Rodolph with me. Don’t worry, my friend, we’ll be alright.” His gaze traveled past Candy, his expression sobering at the sight of Clara. She was by the inn’s entrance, speaking with the innkeeper, who was trying to refuse Clara’s rather generous payment for their stay. Eric watched her for a few seconds, then refocused his attention on Candy. “Take care of her.”

Candy nodded, sincere determination in his eyes. “I will.”

Eric patted Candy’s shoulder. “I know.” He lowered his hand. “I should say goodbye to her.”

Candy gave Eric a sympathetic look. He moved aside, allowing Eric to walk past him.

Clara pressed a bundle into the innkeeper’s hands. She said something, but Eric was too far away to make it out. The flustered innkeeper, smiling broadly, bobbed an awkward curtsy. Noticing Eric approach, the innkeeper gave him a curtsy as well. Eric hastily waved his hand at her, motioning for her to straighten.

“I’m sure my wife has already expressed our gratitude for your hospitality,” said Eric warmly. “But I wanted to thank you myself.”

The innkeeper’s face flushed. “Oh, it was my pleasure, Your Majesty.” She clutched the bundle to her chest, beaming at Clara. “You are both most generous. Most wonderful. May fortune smile upon the both of you.”

“Thank you,” said Clara.

The innkeeper curtsied once more, then hurried inside.

Eric turned to Clara. “What in the world did you give her?” he asked, amused.

“Oh, just a little extra money for the inn.” She gestured to the building. “I noticed yesterday that the roof needed some patching. And the fireplace in the dining room needs replacement bricks for the ones that are cracked.” Clara shrugged. “I wanted to be sure she had enough for the repairs.”

Eric smiled at her, but Clara did not return the expression. Her gaze drifted to Eric’s horse, which stood near Rodolph’s. Rodolph was already seated his saddle, but he had politely turned his attention elsewhere while he waited for Eric.

“Clara.” Eric reached out, gently tilting Clara’s chin up so that she looked into his eyes. “It’s alright.”

Despair settled over Clara’s face. But she set her jaw and gave a firm nod. Reaching up, she grasped his hand.

Eric’s gaze fell to her throat, around which hung a familiar necklace. “You brought the locket?”

Clara lowered their hands to glance down at the golden heart. “Oh. Yes.” She looked back up at him. “I just...I felt this strange urge to pack it before we had left the castle. I’m not sure why. I had almost forgotten that I had it with until this morning.” She bit her lip. “I’ve promised myself that I won’t take it off until you come back.”

Eric laid his free hand alongside her cheek. He bent, kissing her.

“Watch for me from the south tower,” he whispered as he pulled away.

Clara smiled sadly at the repeated words he had spoken to their daughter. “Be careful.”

Eric nodded. He studied her for a moment longer, then strode to his horse. Mounting it, he cast Clara a final glance before turning to Rodolph. They nudged their horses into a canter and, with Rodolph’s men close behind them, rode away from the inn.

/

The next three days passed tortuously for Clara. For each mile that took her closer to the safety of the castle, her mind was ravaged by thoughts of how much nearer Eric was to Amaranth. Anger at herself burned within her at consenting to let Eric go, and the emotiontangled sickeningly with mind-numbing worry.

When Clara and Candy had retrieved Vogt from the prison, Vogt had asked as to king’s whereabouts. Understanding clicked in his eyes when Clara did not answer him, and a rather smug expression passed over his face. But before he could say anything further, Clara had used her magic to silence him. No gag was tied over his mouth, so he could eat and drink on their journey, but he could make no vocal sounds. Clara was vastly grateful she knew how to perform such a spell, as she had no desire to listen to anything Vogt might have said. She had reassured Candy that the spell was harmless, but Candy did not seem to care whether it was or not.

Candy made sure to constantly keep himself between Vogt and Clara, not wanting the man to have even the slightest chance of touching her. Vogt was handcuffed and chained to his horse’s saddle, his wrists encased in special iron links that suffocated magic. Even so, Candy did not wish to risk anything. With Eric gone, he felt it his highest priority to keep Clara safe.

Candy conversed with Clara as much as he could, trying to reassure her that Eric and Rodolph would be back at the castle soon enough. But his attempts at comforting her were weakened by his own worry for Eric, and he eventually settled for simply staying close to Clara, hoping to provide solace through companionship. He did not miss the grateful looks Clara cast his way, shadowed as they were by conflicted misery.

He had noticed the locket she wore immediately, and he sobered at the sight of the familiar object. His thoughts flickered back to when he had first seen Clara wearing the necklace. She had had such hope in her eyes then, of returning to a home so very far from here. Hope did not encompass her expression now, but every once in a while Candy would see Clara reach up to touch the locket, then clutch it tightly, desperately. He sighed. How he wished there was a simple solution to all of this.

When they arrived at the castle gates on the third day, Clara could make out two distant figures standing on the top of the south tower. The shorter one was waving wildly, and Clara could not help a small smile.

By the time they entered the castle’s courtyard, Marie had descended from the tower and was bursting through the castle entrance doors, Elizabeth following closely behind.

“Mama!” cried Marie happily.

“Hello, my darling!” exclaimed Clara. Dismounting her horse, she opened her arms to catch Marie as she rushed to her. Embracing her daughter tightly, Clara pressed a kiss to the top of Marie’s head. “I’ve missed you, love.”

“One of Aunt Elizabeth’s owls told us you were coming up the hill, so we went to watch for you from the south tower, just like Papa said.” Marie grinned up at her mother, then looked past her expectantly. “Where’s Papa?”

Clara’s gut clenched at the question. She looked at Elizabeth, who was staring at Vogt in surprise. Elizabeth studied the rest of the traveling party; seeing that Eric was not with them, she snapped her gaze back to Clara, alarm in her eyes.

Clara gave Marie what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Your father went to Mapletown,” she said, keeping her tone light. “There is some business there that he and Rodolph needed to attend to. They’ll be back in a few days.”

Disappointment settled over Marie’s expression. “Oh.” She scrunched up her face in confusion, staring at the unfamiliar prison guards – and Vogt. “Who are they?”

Clara glanced at the still-mute Vogt. He was watching Marie with great interest, a strange smile lingering at the edge of his lips. Clara frowned and placed her hand on Marie’s shoulder to turn her away. “They are helping the captain and I transport a prisoner to the dungeons.” She walked towards the castle entrance doors, keeping her hand on Marie to move her along. “You are _not_ to talk to him, Marie.”

“But who _is_ he?” pressed Marie. She tried to twist around, but Clara caught her and ushered her into the castle’s entrance hall.

“He is a man who will do you great harm if given the chance,” said Clara. “You are not to interact with him. Is that understood?”

“But –”

“Do you understand, Marie?” said Clara sharply.

Marie stared at Clara, surprised by the harsh tone that was so rare to hear from her mother. Marie nodded meekly, her shoulder sagging in disappointment as the entrance doors closed behind them.

Clara sighed. “I’m sorry, Marie. It’s been a long few days.” She stroked her daughter’s hair and smiled. “How about we go to the music room? Listening to you play the piano would be wonderful right now.”

Marie immediately brightened. “Alright! We can –”

The entrance doors opened once again, and Elizabeth walked into the hall. Seeing the grim expression on her aunt’s face, Clara glanced at Marie. “Marie, why don’t you go on ahead? I need to speak with Aunt Elizabeth. I won’t be more than a few minutes.”

Marie hesitated, suspicion in her eyes as she glanced between her mother and great-aunt. She pursued her lips, but a firm look from Clara silenced any protestations she may have conjured. She sighed and turned back around, making her way towards a doorway that opened up to a staircase.

Elizabeth waited until Marie was gone before speaking. “Candy explained the situation,” she said uneasily. She grimaced, but the expression was fleeting, blanketed by a calmness Clara knew was put on for her sake.

Clara sighed. “I tried to go with him.”

“I know you did, my dear,” said Elizabeth. She shook her head. “Only five of them in total?” She made a sound of frustration. “That is annoyingly predictable of Eric.”

Clara spurted out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Isn’t it though?” Her hand fumbled for the locket once more. “He’s the most ridiculous, stubborn, utterly selfless...” The words broke off with a shaky exhale.

It had taken them three days to return to the castle. It would have taken Eric two to arrive in Mapletown, and only one (or less) to find Amaranth’s refuge. He could be there right now, this instant, facing who knows what. While she was here, perfectly safe within the castle walls.

Elizabeth rested her hand on Clara’s arm. “You must have faith in him. Worrying yourself out of your wits will do you no good. Marie needs you.”

Clara nodded. “Yes, I know.” She released the locket and raised her chin, composing herself. Her gaze flickered towards the entrance doors. “Oh. I had forgotten to lift the silencing spell on Vogt.”

Elizabeth snorted. “He’ll survive a few more hours under it. Go on and be with Marie. I’ll go to the dungeons and see to Vogt...when I feel fit to do so.”

“Very well,” chuckled Clara. She patted her aunt’s arm. “Thank you, Aunt Elizabeth.”

/

The candle flame flickered feebly, providing barely enough light for Marie to see by as she made her way down the steps into the castle dungeons. It was night now, and eerily quiet, making the padding of her slippers against the stones seem oddly loud. She held the candle holder out further, squinting into the dimness as she wandered down the corridor lined with cell doors. Most of the cells were empty, but that did little to ease the fear within Marie. She bit her lip, glancing about nervously as she searched for the prisoner her mother had escorted onto the castle grounds earlier that day.

Guilt twisted in her stomach at this blatant disobedience to her mother. But something was terribly wrong. Her mother refused to give her details on what her father was doing, and where _exactly_ he had gone. Her mother’s claim about him going to Mapletown seemed only partially true, though Marie wasn’t exactly sure how she knew that. She just... _did_ , somehow. Whatever the truth was, Marie knew she would never learn it from her mother or great-aunt.

So she would speak with the one person who may give her the answers she so desperately needed.

His cell was at the very end of the corridor. It was rather small, with only a cot and a chair for furnishing. The man sat on the thin mattress, his hands folded in his lap as he stared ahead in deep contemplation. Upon hearing Marie’s approach, he turned his head towards the barred door.

“Well now, what do we have here?” the man said.

He smiled at Marie, but the expression was not a warm one. It reminded her of the cats that wandered the castle grounds – right after they had caught a mouse. She grimaced, careful to keep her distance from the cell door.

The man stood and dipped into a smooth bow. “Your Highness, what a thrill it is to properly meet you.”

Marie swallowed, forcing down the fear in her throat. “Who _are_ you?”

“My name is Johan Vogt,” the man answered. “Though I am assuming you have never heard of me.”

Marie shook her head.

“I’m not surprised,” chuckled Vogt. He took a step closer to the cell door, studying Marie. “You have much of your mother in you, in terms of appearance.” He squinted, his gaze almost intrusive in its intensity. “Though your eyes are not as light as hers. I can see that the shade and shape mirror your father’s.”

The sickening feeling in Marie’s stomach churned even more beneath the man’s unnerving gaze. She took a step further back. “Why are you here?”

“You must be more specific, my dear. Why am I here, _now_ , in this prison? Or why am I in prison at all?”

Marie shrugged. “Both, I suppose.”

Vogt nodded. “I am here now because I gave your parents some rather important information, and as such, I was moved here for my own safety. As for why I am a prisoner in the first place...” He paused. Then he shook his head. “Perhaps I should let your mother tell you that.”

Marie pursued her lips, considering him. “You must have done something very wicked.”

“Must I have?” asked Vogt. He gave a thoughtful hum. “I suppose there are many acts could be considered wicked, depending on who passes judgment. Yet what one sees as wicked, another may see as being of the most noble intentions.”

Marie frowned, confused by the strange answer. “Do you know where my papa is? He should have come back with all of you.”

“Yes, I suppose he should have.” He tapped his chin. “Did your mother not tell you?”

“She said he went to Mapletown,” answered Marie. “But I know she’s keeping something from me.”

“Do you know that for sure?” smirked Vogt. “Or are you simply _wishing_ for what she said to be untrue, so that you may have an excuse to disobey your mother by being down here?”

Marie scowled. “I _know_ it’s not true,” she said haughtily. Doubt flickered across her face, but she raised her chin, glaring at him. “ _Somehow_...I just do.”

The intrigue in Vogt’s eyes deepened. “How very interesting,” he muttered. He shrugged. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe it’s my place to tell you about the foolhardy mission your father has gone on.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Marie, both scared and excited at the prospect of new information. “What mission?”

Vogt chuckled. “So very eager. Unfortunately, it’s that same lack of patience your father has that will probably get him killed.”

Marie paled. “What?”

“Your Highness!”

Startled, Marie spun around.

One of the dungeon guards was hurrying towards her. He was a large man – easily a head taller than Vogt, and twice as broad. A thick beard covered his chin, its auburn shade matching his hair. But there was a warm kindness to his face, which always elevated whenever Marie was around. Now though, his expression only held alarm as he approached Marie.

“Princess, what are you doing here?” he asked. He glared at Vogt. “You should not be talking to this man.”

“Oh Pyotr, please, don’t tell Mama,” begged Marie. “But I _had_ to speak with Mr. Vogt.”

“Why?”

“I...” Marie shuffled nervously. “I wanted to know where Papa had gone.”

“Your father?” Pyotr glanced at Vogt, who was watching the two of them with a calm smugness. “He’s gone to Mapletown.”

Marie shook her head. “No, he hasn’t. And this man –” She gestured to Vogt. “He knows! He knows where Papa is.”

Disturbed, Pyotr eyed Vogt closely. “What lies are you filling the princess’ head with?”

Vogt laughed. “Lies? The only lies here are the ones the queen has been telling.”

Pyotr stepped forward menacingly. “Take care in how you speak of Her Majesty. There are far less comfortable cells we could put you in.”

But Vogt’s smile only broadened.

Pyotr looked back at Marie. “Come along, Your Highness,” he said. “Let us get you back to your room.”

“But –”

“Go on, little princess,” said Vogt, his voice eerily pleasant. “I’m very glad to have met you, though. Perhaps we shall speak again in the future.”

Marie seemed unsure how to react to that.

Pyotr shot Vogt a warning look. He turned Marie away from Vogt, and gently ushered her down the corridor. They ascended to the level above the prison, and Marie could not help the relief flowing through her as they entered the familiar, warmly lit corridor.

“You should not have gone down there, princess,” Pyotr said. “Your mother –”

Marie snapped her head up, her eyes widening. “You won’t tell her, will you, Pyotr? Oh please, don’t tell her.”

Pyotr frowned. “I should.” He studied Marie for a moment, then sighed. “But I won’t. For now, at least.” He firmly matched Marie’s gaze. “As long as you promise to not go down there again.”

Marie gave a weak smile of relief. “I won’t. Thank you, Pyotr.”

Pyotr returned the smile, unable to hide his affection. Then he motioned for her to continue walking. “Come along, now. Let’s get you to your room.”

/

Clara woke early the following morning. She had had a restless night, and though the sun had yet to fully rise, she knew that attempting to sleep any longer would be futile. Slipping on a simple day dress, she wandered down to the kitchens.

Masha and her staff were already preparing breakfast. They scuttled around each other in a strange organized chaos, ducking under trays the maids were carrying and twisting around cooks as they prepared various dishes. The smell of cinnamon and fresh bread filled the air, filling Clara with a comforting warmth as she weaved her way to the tea cupboard.

“I’ve already prepared a kettle.”

Clara turned. Masha was standing there, her apron powdered in flour. In her hands was a mound of white dough, which she was kneading against a table surface.

Masha nodded towards the stove nearest them, from which hung a tea kettle. “It’s raspberry.”

“Sounds wonderful,” said Clara. “Thank you, Masha.” She walked over the stove. On the shelf above the stove was a set of teacups. Taking one, Clara filled the cup with the streaming drink, then wandered back to Masha’s side.

Masha slapped the dough against the table. “I hope you got a decent amount of sleep last night.”

Clara glanced at Masha innocently. “Why wouldn’t I have?”

Masha gave Clara an exasperated look.

Holding back an uncomfortable grimace, Clara lifted the teacup to her lips.

Masha’s gaze drifted past Clara, and she sighed in amusement. “Well it’s about time you’ve come down to get some real food, Hoffmann.”

Clara twisted around to watch the castle’s royal enchanter, Hoffman, make his way towards Masha and Clara. He was a thin man, with an intellectual look to him that reminded Clara of the professors her father had been friends with. His hair was more gray now than its original rust color, and though he had wrinkles lining his mouth and eyes, he somehow still looked younger than he actually was (Clara suspected there was some magical involvement to blame for that).

Fumbling around a table piled with various mixing bowls, Hoffman came to a stop in front of Masha and Clara. He looked rather tired, but there was a brightness in his eyes as he greeted them.

“Good morning, Masha, Your Majesty.” Hoffmann gave Masha a vaguely offended look. “And what do you mean, ‘real food’? I am perfectly capable of conjuring up adequate meals while working.”

Masha snorted. “Calling that mush you conjure up ‘food’ is an insult to cooks all across Parthenia.” She gestured to a tray of muffins behind Hoffmann. “Help yourself, before you faint.”

Hoffmann looked slightly disgruntled by that, but he reached for the muffins regardless.

“How long was it this time?” Clara asked, grinning.

“ _Four_ days,” said Masha, shaking her head. “It’s a wonder he came out at all.”

Hoffmann threw Masha an annoyed glare.

Clara chuckled, taking another sip of her tea.

Hoffman had a tendency to...lose himself in his work. If struck by sudden inspiration, he would often barricade himself in his workroom, spending hours – or days – there as he perfected whatever magical project it was. According to Eric, Hoffmann’s record had been ten days. Eric’s father finally had had to go in and all but drag Hoffmann out, least the enchanter waste away from lack of proper food.

“And what is it that you are working on, Hoffmann?” prompted Clara.

Hoffmann smiled and wagged his finger. “Can’t say, not until I’m done. It would ruin the surprise.”

Masha rolled her eyes.

“Of course,” said Clara humorously.

“Where is the king?” asked Hoffmann. “I’m curious to hear from both of you what Vogt had to say about the bodies. Do you know who is responsible for the killings?”

Clara grimaced. She shifted the teacup in her hands. “Her name is Amaranth. She’s a maceri witch.”

Surprise sparked in Hoffmann’s eyes. “A _maceri_ witch!” he exclaimed. “Of _course_ it is.” He shook his head. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind much, as I thought they were all but extinct from Parthenia. I suppose the state of the bodies should have been obvious enough, but I had wanted to rule out all other possibilities before suggesting such an unlikely idea. Besides –”

“So where is _this_ one?” interrupted Masha.

“She’s not in Parthenia,” said Clara. “She’s just beyond the southern border.”

“Ah.” Hoffmann nodded. He tapped his finger against the muffin he was holding. “Do you and the king have a plan for how to take care of her yet? You’ll have to send in non-magical soldiers, to be safe, though I’m sure you already know that –”

“Why should that matter?” Masha said sharply.

“Maceri witches feed off of the magic of living beings,” explained Hoffmann. “That’s why the bodies were in such a state; they had been drained of all of their magic. It’s _very_ dangerous for any magical being to be near a maceri witch.”

“Yes, well, Eric’s already gone after her,” said Clara dejectedly. “With Rodolph and some of his men.” She pressed her lips together in irritation. “He refused to let me come along.”

“Eric went with them?” Hoffmann stared at Clara, appalled.

Clara frowned. “Yes...” She set the teacup down. “Why, what’s wrong? Eric doesn’t have magic.”

Hoffmann glanced between Clara and Masha nervously. “He doesn’t have _inherited_ magic,” he said. “But he was under Mauscher’s curse for _months_. It was a dark, heavy kind of magic that had been cast upon him – and by a very powerful object.” He shook his head at Clara. “You may have broken the curse, Your Majesty, but even you cannot fully erase its trace.”

Horror seeped into Clara as she processed Hoffmann’s words. “Eric still has the curse’s magic inside of him?”

“Not...exactly,” said Hoffmann. “But there is a sort of _shado_ _w_ from Mauscher’s curse that will always be there. He’s been touched by _dark magic_. You cannot simply wipe that away.”

Clara’s eyes widened. “But, Amaranth...she won’t want it,” she insisted. “It’s not usable magic.”

“It’s not usable,” he agreed. “But maceri witches are dark magic users. Amaranth will find the king’s curse _vastly_ interesting.” He hesitated, watching Clara’s face. “She’ll want it regardless.”

Clara exchanged an alarmed look with Masha.

“Eric doesn’t know,” whispered Clara. “Masha, he doesn’t _know_.” Panic rose up within her, making it suddenly very hard to breathe.

“Clara, it’s a _four_ _-day_ journey to Mapletown,” said Masha.

“And an extra day to Amaranth,” Clara said. Her voice trembled. “That’s too much time – he’ll be dead by then.” Terror seized her, and she spun around, racing towards the kitchen doors.

“Clara!” called Masha.

“Your Majesty!” cried Hoffmann.

Clara ignored them both. She had to get to the southern border – _today_. But how? She ran into the corridor, hiking up her skirts as she raced to find the one person that could help.


	32. Attrition Part IV

Mapletown was not large by any means, but it fared better than many towns in Parthenia. The source of its fortune could largely be attributed to its location. As it was so far south in the kingdom, it had been left alone for most of the Mouse King’s reign. Spared from the destruction other towns had suffered, Mapletown had only continued to thrive once Eric had been crowned king.

There was a peaceful beauty to the place. True to its name, Mapletown had dozens, if not hundreds, of maple trees planted throughout it. The trees lined the streets, grew alongside walls, even sprouted through the center of some buildings. The leaves, which never shed from their branches, were in a constant state of oranges, reds, and golds. The buildings were painted to match the trees, altogether making it feel as though the town had settled into an eternal state of autumn.

The sun would be setting soon. Eric decided that they would stay at an inn for the night, and continue on to Raven’s Pass in the morning. Not wanting to go inside just yet, Eric offered to take both his and Rodolph’s horses to the inn’s stables. As he was leading the animals around to the back of the inn, a sudden shout made him stop.

“Eric!”

Eric turned to see a young man crossing the street in his direction. A smile spread across Eric’s face, and he waved in greeting. “Tommy! I wasn’t expecting to see you here. What are you doing in Mapletown?”

“Working,” Tommy said. He adjusted the strap of a large bag slung over his chest. “The old physician that worked in Mapletown died recently, so I was sent to help until they could find a permanent replacement.”

“Is Pepper here too?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. She needed to look after the bakery.” He shrugged. “I told them I’d only stay for two weeks, so I’ll be back in the Gingerbread Village soon.”

Eric nodded, pride surging within him at seeing Tommy so confident in his career. In his twenties now, and married, Tommy seemed so very different from the young boy Eric had met in the Drosselmeyers’ parlor. Now he was a medic in the Parthenian army, and apparently a rather valued one, to be sent to Mapletown.

“Well,” said Eric. “I’m glad to hear that your skills are so highly appraised.”

Tommy smiled at that. “So what are _you_ doing here?” he asked. He glanced at the two horses, the reins of which Eric still held. “Are Clara and Marie with you?”

“No. I’m here with Rodolph.”

“What for?”

Eric glanced about them, apprehensive of discussing such matters in the open. “Why don’t I put away the horses, and we’ll get some food inside? I’ll explain then.”

/

Tommy sat back in his chair, frowning. “That’s quite the problem you have.”

Eric gave a humorless laugh. “Isn’t it though?”

They were sitting at a table in a more isolated part of the inn’s tavern. While they had eaten supper, Eric retold the events of the past month in relation to the meraci witch. Tommy looked vaguely disturbed by the story, but there was an intrigued thoughtfulness in his eyes as he listened.

“And you forced Clara to go back to the castle?” Tommy asked.

Eric grimaced. “ _Forced_ is a rather strong term,” he said. “I…fervently suggested it.”

Tommy snorted. “I wonder if Clara sees it that way. I’m surprised she consented at all.”

“Yes well…” Eric tapped the side of his mug, looking uncomfortable. “That aside, there’s still the problem of not knowing exactly what it will take to bring Amaranth down.”

“Can’t you just blast her with the scepter?”

“I was hoping you would suggest something with a bit more tact,” said Eric, amused. “But no. I can’t just… _blast_ her. For all I know, she could somehow intercept the spell and… _consume_ it, making her more powerful. I may try a smaller spell, like a binding spell. But I don’t want to risk a destruction spell against her.”

“Hm.” Tommy took a sip from his mug. “Well, can you try draining _her_ magic?”

“I thought about that,” said Eric. “But the problem is with the scepter. It produces its own, _pure_ source of magic. That’s what makes it so powerful. I can’t corrupt it by soaking up a maceri witch’s stolen magic; such an act would irreparably damage it. And if Amaranth has as much infected magic within her as I’m guessing, it would overload the scepter and likely make it explode, killing me in the process.”

Tommy cringed. “Alright, you probably shouldn’t do that then.”

Eric nodded grimly. He rotated his drink in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl against the mug’s sides. Then his face brightened, and he looked up at Tommy.

“What?” asked Tommy.

“I can’t store Amaranth’s magic in the scepter,” said Eric. “But maybe I can use the scepter as a sort of… _conduit_ for the magic.”

“A conduit?”

“Yes,” said Eric, sounding relieved at finding a possible solution. “Look, the stolen magic would destroy the scepter, but only if it stays there. If the magic briefly _passes_ through the scepter, using it as a bridge between Amaranth and a new source, then it _should_ be alright.”

“Should,” repeated Tommy doubtfully.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Tommy shrugged. “So where are you going to transfer the magic?”

“I’m not going to transfer it to a person, that’s for sure,” said Eric. “That much perverted magic would certainly kill someone…or worse.” He glanced at the maple tree that was growing through the center of the tavern’s floor. “Maybe I could return it to the earth.”

“The earth?”

“A lot of magic comes from the earth,” said Eric. “Not the scepter’s, and not Clara’s, but others. Regular witches, for example. They get it from the trees, from the crystals in caves, or from streams. The magic that is embedded in Parthenia herself.” He rubbed his chin as he thought. “I don’t want to put it _directly_ into the earth. I’m afraid of what may happen if someone accidentally harvests the corrupted magic.” His gaze flickered back to the maple tree. “Maybe I can find a large enough tree to use. The magic will probably kill the tree, but better a tree than a person.”

“Hm,” muttered Tommy. Then he gave a nod. “Alright, I suppose we can work with that.”

“We?”

Tommy set his mug down. “You don’t expect me to sit this out, do you? Besides, you have, what…three men with you?”

“…four.”

Tommy snorted. “Exactly.”

A smile began to slip onto Eric’s face. But then he sobered, and shook his head. “I can’t let you come, not with Pepper waiting for you back home. It’s too dangerous.”

“Right, because Clara and Marie aren’t waiting for _you_ at the castle. Besides, you _are_ the king. Isn’t it my duty as a loyal subject to, you know, protect you or something?”

Eric chuckled. “Something like that.”

“Well, then, there you go.” Tommy plucked a biscuit from the basket between them and tore off a piece, popping it into his mouth.

Eric gave Tommy a look that was a mixture of amusement and the utmost gratitude. He tapped his mug against the table, then set it aside. “Alright. I won’t stop you from coming.” He stood. “Be sure to get some sleep, though. We’re leaving early in the morning.”

Tommy gave Eric a mock salute. “See you then.”

Eric smiled and tossed the money for their meal onto the table. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

/

“You look concerned, Eric.”

Eric lifted his head. He was sitting on an overturned pail outside of the stall his horse was in. He had woken extremely early and, after failed attempts of trying to get a few more hours of rest, finally went down to the inn’s stables. In his hands was a leather strap he had found draped over the door of the stall next to his horse’s. He twisted it around his wrist absentmindedly as he looked up at Rodolph, who had come to a stop in front of him.

Eric emitted a bitter laugh. “Should I not be? Clara was right; this plan is nothing more than a foolhardy concoction of fear and arrogance.” He dug the heel of his boot into the hay-covered ground. “Perhaps we _should_ have returned to the castle.”

Rodolph gave Eric a sympathetic look. “Making these kinds of decisions is never easy. Your father was not exempt from his own uncertainty and doubt when facing similar choices.”

“Yes, well, Father always did seem to have a more level-headed view of matters than me.”

“Amaranth has given you little choice,” said Rodolph. “You are right to want to stop her before another innocent is killed.”

“And if she kills one of _you_ instead?” Eric shook his head. “I think I should go alone.”

Rodolph looked at Eric in alarm. “What?”

Eric sighed. “I have the scepter. Surely it is powerful enough to subdue Amaranth. If I go alone, I can focus solely on _her_ , and not on having to protect you and your men. Plus, then I won’t worry about hitting any of you with a spell by accident.”

“I have a stronger faith in your aim than that,” Rodolph said, a subtle humor lining his tone. Then a firm determination overtook his expression. “As admirable as your intentions are, I must respectfully refuse to obey such a command. It is my duty to keep you from harm; I certainly will not abandon you now because of a threat to my own safety.”

Eric made a sound of annoyance. “You’re too noble for your own good, Rodolph.”

“Perhaps,” smiled Rodolph.

Eric tightened the strap over his hand. “I don’t want your men coming. I thought that at first it would be wise to have _more_ of us confronting Amaranth. But now that I’ve thought it over, I wonder if it should be the opposite. With less of us, there is a smaller chance of us getting separated and bewitched by Amaranth. Or whatever it is that she does.”

Rodolph nodded thoughtfully. “And Thomas?” He did not address Tommy as Eric did, as it was mostly only close friends and family that still called Tommy by his childhood name.

Eric grimaced. “I would rather him stay behind as well.”

“I wish you luck in trying to convince him to do so.”

Eric leaned back against the stall’s door with a sigh. “Why must every Drosselmeyer be so irritatingly stubborn?”

A smirk touched Rodolph’s lips. “I have heard the queen ask the same of you many times.” He pretended to not notice the exasperated look Eric flashed at him. Instead, Rodolph made his way to his own horse’s stall. “Let us get the horses ready. If we leave soon, we should reach Raven’s Pass with plenty of light left in the day.”

/

Tommy had – unsurprisingly – refused to be left behind. Rodolph’s men had been reluctant to remain in Mapletown, but Eric had insisted on them staying. And so Eric, Rodolph, and Tommy set out for Raven’s Pass, each trying to mask their own apprehension as Mapletown disappeared into the hills behind them.

It was many hours before they reached their destination. Once they had entered Raven’s Pass, no map was needed to confirm that it was Amaranth’s refuge. The moment they rode into the ravine, the vegetation of the land changed. The trees and grass turned sickly and wet, as though they were molding beneath the dull light of the overcast sun. Tree branches twisted and stretched outwards like skeletal arms, and a dark slimy substance dripped from their bark. Eric did not recognize it, and he warned his companions to not touch it, afraid of what it may do to human skin. It was oddly cold in the ravine, and the air reeked of the stench of decay.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Eric asked Rodolph, staring at their surroundings in shock.

Rodolph shook his head. “I have not,” he said cautiously. “This land is infected by a great evil.”

“But where is Amaranth?” said Tommy.

Eric glanced down at the scepter. He had tried using a locating spell to pinpoint Amaranth’s exact location, but he was not surprised by the scepter’s failure to produce a path. He needed to have a mental image of the person in his mind while casting the spell, and as he had no idea what Amaranth looked like, there had been nothing for the scepter to link to.

As they wandered further into Raven’s Pass, a strange, almost nauseating sensation began to pool in Eric’s stomach. He soon realized that the feeling was the effect of being close to the distorted magic. Holding the scepter allowed him to sense the dark magic more acutely than Tommy or Rodolph could, and he led them in the direction of what he hoped was the magic’s source.

“There,” he said, pointing. Embedded in the wall of the ravine was a slim cave entrance, partially hidden by the roots of trees growing out of the cliff side. The sickening feeling in Eric deepened the longer he stared at the entrance, confirming his guess that that was where they needed to go.

The three of them dismounted their horses. Eric adjusted his grip on the scepter and looked at Tommy and Rodolph. “Stay close.”

Tommy pulled out his revolver. After reassuring himself that it was loaded, he slipped it back into the holster hanging at his hip. Rodolph did the same, and Eric felt his own hand twitch towards the revolver at his side.

Not long after Vogt’s attack in Germany, Eric and Clara began working on integrating the weapons of Clara’s world into Parthenia’s army. Rifles were used most often by the soldiers, though revolvers became standard among them as well. Eric could not the deny usefulness of the firearms, and Clara felt it was wise to have a balanced mixture of weapons from her world and Parthenia in the kingdom’s military.

The firearms in Parthenia looked slightly different from how they appeared in Clara’s world. They were more intricately carved, with beautiful designs of folktale creatures or scenes from great myths painted alongside the barrels and handles. They were lighter too, and could be used with a variety of enchanted bullets.

The bullets in their revolvers now were made of pure iron. As iron was known to be a deterrent to many creatures that used dark magic, Eric could only hope that they would affect Amaranth. He brushed his fingers over his revolver's holster, reassuring himself. With Tommy and Rodolph close behind, Eric pushed aside the tree roots and stepped into the damp darkness of the cave.

There was a grayish green luminescence that emanated from the cave’s walls, leading them down a narrow pathway. Their footsteps echoed against the uneven stone ground, but there was little they could do to stifle the sound.

They walked for what seemed like hours. The pathway wound haphazardly, weaving back and forth like a madman’s dance. Then it suddenly jerked to the left, opening up into a large room.

A large tree stood in the center of the room. It was not decayed like the trees outside; instead, silver leaves with pointed edges hung from its branches, reflecting the sickly glow of the walls. Roots spiraled downwards from the cave’s ceiling, some almost touching the floor. More roots clung to the walls, twisting and winding over each other in a suffocating manner.

The distinct touch of corrupted magic blanketed the place. It felt wrong to Eric, and yet, he could not help but admire the eerie beauty encompassing the tree.

“ _What kind of mortals follow the decay of the dead to my home?_ ”

Eric tightened his grip on the scepter at the sudden voice. Tommy snapped his head up, searching for the source of it, but they could see no one.

“ _I sense no great magic in any of you. Why have you come?_ ”

The voice belonged to an old woman. It was cracked with age, as though the dust of corpses had lodged itself in its speaker’s throat. Yet there was an underlying strength to its bitter tone, one that vibrated with violent warning.

Eric lifted his gaze, trying to keep as much of the room in view as possible. “We’re here to speak with you, Amaranth. About the Parthenians you have murdered.”

“ _You know my name. How very...interesting._ ” There was a low chuckle. “ _You come to avenge the deaths of your kinsmen? Is that it? You should be honored by their sacrifices. It is through them that my great power lives on._ ”

“No power can be great if its source is the blood of others,” said Eric.

“ _I am not surprised to hear such ignorance from a human._ ”

“Will you not come out?” demanded Eric. “Or are we to speak to a coward’s shadow?”

The voice let out another laugh. “ _Of the few things humans are entitled to, arrogance is not one of them. You would do well to cast it aside._ ”

The final word had barely been spoken before a figure stepped out from behind the tree. She was hunched, her crooked back making one arm hang lower than the other. Her hands, twisted and gnarled, were covered in age spots and wrinkles, as was the skin on her neck and face. Thin white hair hung about her face in tangled braids and loose strands.

She walked forward with slow, uncertain steps. It seemed a great effort for her to move, as though the years of centuries past weighed her down. Yet, harmless as she seemed in such a state, Eric did not lower the scepter.

Amaranth stopped a few feet from Eric. She appraised him silently. “I can smell the blood of the royals in you. You are Parthenia’s king.”

“Yes.”

Amaranth did not look impressed. “You are very young, to be given such power.”

Eric shrugged. “I suppose I am, compared to you.”

Amaranth made a sound of disgust. “Humans are such fools. Giving their kingdom to one barely out of boyhood. No wonder your kind falls into war and destitution so easily.”

Eric raised an eyebrow at the notion of being perceived as ‘barely out of boyhood.’ He shook his head. “Judging an entire race through the transgressions of only a few is a poor habit.”

Amaranth chuckled, the sound rattling in her withered chest. “I do not make shallow assumptions. I have _seen_ it happen. Over and over again. Is that why you are here now, boy-king? To make war with me?”

“I am here to stop a threat to my people,” said Eric. “To protect them.”

“Ah. So it is delusions of heroism that cloud your mind.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” said Eric. He shifted his grip on the scepter.

Amaranth’s gaze fell to the scepter. Intrigue flickered through her eyes, followed by surprise – and an undeniable flash of fear. “Where did you get that?” she hissed.

Eric studied Amaranth curiously. He lifted the scepter, aiming it at her. “You recognize it?” he asked.

“I have seen it used before, centuries ago,” said Amaranth. “ _You_ are hardly worthy of it.” She held out her hand. “Give it here, and I shall make your death as painless as possible.”

Eric snorted. “That’s not much of an incentive.”

Amaranth narrowed her eyes. “It is not wise to refuse me.”

Eric said nothing, watching her with a cold expression.

Amaranth sneered at him. “Very well, then.”She threw up her hand suddenly, making a waving motion at the ceiling above.

Immediately, Tommy and Rodolph drew their revolvers and fired at the witch. Amaranth’s weak shuffling was cast aside, and she dodged the bullets with surprising speed. At the same moment, the roots from the ceiling came to life. They uncurled and lurched downward, snapping at the men like whips.

Eric jumped back, barely avoiding one of the larger roots. He muttered an incantation quickly, keeping his gaze locked on Amaranth.

“ _Freeze her limbs and seize her bones,_

 _Halt her in her tracks, make her as still as the stones._ ”

He thrust the scepter forward. Amaranth arched her hand upwards, creating a magical shield. The air shimmered in front of her, absorbing Eric’s spell before dissipating a moment later.

Eric spat out a curse as he lurched to the side, dodging another root. He swung his scepter towards Amaranth again, but she easily deflected the spell.

A cry of alarm made Eric spin around. A root was wrapped around Tommy’s waist, wrenching him into the air. In Tommy’s surprise, his revolver fell from his grip, clattering to the cave floor.

Tearing his attention away from Amaranth, Rodolph swung his revolver around to shoot at the root holding Tommy. With him distracted, a new root burst through the floor and encircled Rodolph’s torso, securing him.

The root holding Tommy dragged him to Amaranth’s side. Tommy struggled viciously against it, but it slid further up his body, pinning his arms to hold him in place.

“Stop!” shouted Eric. He pointed the scepter at Amaranth. “Let them go, Amaranth.”

Amaranth smiled, showcasing rows of rotten teeth. “What will you give me for them? How much are they worth?” She eyed the scepter, unable to quell the ravenous hunger in her eyes.

“Don’t be stupid, Eric!” cried Tommy. “You _cannot_ give her something that powerful.”

“Hush, you!” warned Amaranth. “Or I shall keep your tongue as a trophy.”

Disgust in his eyes, Tommy spat at the witch.

Amaranth snarled in rage, raising her hand to slap Tommy across the face. Her nails, long and jagged, scraped bloody lines over his skin.

“ _Stop!_ ” Eric took a step forward. “Let him go. Let them both go, and I’ll give you the scepter.”

“Eric –” began Rodolph.

“Be quiet, Rodolph,” snapped Eric, not daring to turn and look at the man. He keep his gaze locked with Amaranth’s. He was such a fool to bring them here. He should have known better. Whatever happened to him now seemed of little consequence; he refused to let his companions suffer for his mistake.

Amaranth smirked. “Let them _both_ go? That is quite the demand.”

“The scepter is quite the prize,” countered Eric.

“That is true.” She studied Eric closely. “Relieve yourself of that strange weapon at your side, and bring the scepter here.”

Eric hesitated.

“ _Now_ ,” ordered Amaranth. “Before I gouge out the boy’s eyes.”

Tightening his jaw, Eric pulled his revolver from its holster. He let it fall to the floor. Slowly, he walked to Amaranth. He glanced at Tommy briefly, only enough to see the frantic protestation in Tommy’s eyes. Ignoring Tommy’s gaze, Eric held the scepter out. “Take it,” he spat.

Amaranth smiled. Then, the movement shockingly fast, she reached out and grabbed Eric’s wrist, yanking him close. At the same moment, roots snapped up from the floor to encircle Eric’s arms, holding him in place. The root around his right arm constricted painfully, forcing Eric to drop the scepter. It clattered to the floor at his feet.

Eric twisted violently, but his efforts did little against the plants’ magic-induced strength. Fuming with anger – at both himself and Amaranth – Eric glared at her. “Well? You have the scepter. Release them.”

Amaranth chuckled. “You know very little about bargaining with maceri witches. Perhaps it would have been wise to remedy such ignorance before coming here.”

“You said you would let them go!” Eric said furiously. “Have the centuries diluted your honor along with you conscience?”

“I agreed to nothing of the sort,” said Amaranth. “I merely concurred in the value of the scepter. _You_ are the one who failed to strike a proper deal.”

“They have no magic,” insisted Eric. “They are of no value to you.”

“Perhaps.” A strange look passed over Amaranth’s face. She frowned, tilting her head as she scrutinized Eric. Suspicion in her eyes, she stepped closer to him. “How very interesting,” she murmured. “You do not possess magic of your own. But...I can still sense its presence in you.” She thrust her hand out and grabbed Eric’s chin. Eric immediately tried to wrench himself free, but her grip was oddly strong.

Amaranth turned Eric’s head to the side, examining him with interest. Leaning forward so that her mouth was only a hair’s breadth away from his neck, she inhaled deeply. Eric grimaced, revolted by her closeness. “You have been touched by dark magic,” murmured Amaranth. A hungry smile curved her lips. “A curse, conjured by a hatred that is rather...intoxicating.”

Eric froze, horror rising in him as he realized what she was referring to.

“There is not much left,” said Amaranth in disappointment. “But there should be enough for me to at least get a taste...”

Eric yanked against the roots futility. “ _Don’t –_ ”

Amaranth turned Eric’s head so that they were facing each other. She opened her mouth, and sucked in a long breath. Eric clamped his mouth shut, gritting his teeth at the effort of it. But slowly, whatever spell Amaranth was using pried Eric’s lips apart. A stream of magic began to flow out of his mouth. It was a muddy rust color, like the shade of an apple’s peel that had long rotten. As Amaranth inhaled the dark magic, a sickly expression overtook Eric’s face. His skin began to pale, edged by a grayish tinge. He sagged against the roots, his body going limp with weariness.

“Stop!’ exclaimed Tommy, panic in his voice. “Stop, you’ll kill him!”

Amaranth ignored him. The eager hunger in her eyes intensified, and she tightened her grip on Eric, as though doing so could draw out the curse’s magic faster. Eric’s head rocked back dazedly in a final effort of resistance, but then his eyes drooped shut, unable to stay open in wake of the energy the extraction was taking.

Tommy struggled against the roots binding him. “ _Stop!_ ”

“Take mine!” cried Rodolph. “Take mine instead!”

Amaranth paused. The link between her and Eric dissipated in the distraction, and Eric groaned, his head falling forward. But Amaranth paid him no mind. She glanced at Rodolph curiously. “You have magic?” She narrowed her eyes. “I do not sense it in you.”

“I was cursed as the king was,” said Rodolph, the words spilling out of him desperately. “By the same magic user, for the same amount of time. _Please –_ take mine instead.”

Amaranth smiled coldly. “I shall take your magic regardless. Why should I spare the king?”

“Because we have reinforcements coming.” Rodolph said, hoping Amaranth could not sense the lie in his words. “They’ll be here, soon. And if the king is dead, they’ll attack without mercy.” He glanced nervously at Eric, who had not re-opened his eyes. “But keep him alive, and you have a bargaining chip.”

“Do you believe me to be so weak as to be incapable of handling your pitiful mortal armies?” She sounded both amused and offended at the notion. “I need no king to bargain with.”

Rodolph gave her a doubtful look. “They will be bringing magic users. Powerful ones, enough to be a true threat.”

Surprise flickered in Amaranth’s eyes. Then she scoffed. “If that is true, why not bring them initially?”

“We didn’t know what we were up against,” said Rodolph. “They are insurance. In case the king did not return.”

Amaranth looked back at Eric, pondering this new information. Then she shrugged. “I suppose I can wait to finish him off. Why hasten these things?” She withdrew her hand from Eric and waved at the roots securing him. They released their hold, and Eric collapsed in a heap at Amaranth’s feet. She shook her head, heaving a withered chuckle. “Humans are so terribly fragile.”

“And the boy?” Rodolph demanded, nodding at Tommy. “He has no magic; he is of no use to you. If there is any mercy in you, _please_ , let him go.”

Amaranth glanced at Tommy. But Tommy did not match her gaze; he was staring at Eric’s unmoving form, his eyes full of terror for his brother-in-law. Amaranth smirked and turned back to Rodolph. “Your concern for him is misplaced.” She shambled towards Rodolph in the same halting manner she had first entered the room with. “It is your own life that you should be pleading for.” She stretched out a gnarled hand towards Rodolph’s throat. “Though no amount of pitiful begging will spare you...”


	33. Attrition Part V

Emotions tangled sickeningly within Clara as she ran. Fury at herself for letting Eric go in the first place. Anger at _Eric_ for coming up with such a foolhardy plan, and for not thinking of the consequences more thoroughly. Fear – horrible, gut-wrenching fear – for him, and for the men that had accompanied him.

Dread, at what she was supposed to tell Marie if she was too late, and Eric was already…

She shoved the thought from her mind.

“Walther!” Clara shouted, rushing towards the figure walking down the corridor ahead of her. “ _Walther!_ ”

Walther spun around, alarm on his face at Clara’s frantic voice. “Clara, what is it? Are you alright?”

“Elizabeth,” Clara asked breathlessly, coming to a stop. “Where is Aunt Elizabeth? Have you seen her? I need to speak with her, _immediately_.”

“Well, yes,” said Walther hesitantly, staring at Clara in concern. “She told me she was going to the owlery. But what –”

Clara was already rushing past him.

“Clara!”

Then she was gone, racing around the corner and out of sight.

The castle had acquired an owlery once Elizabeth had permanently moved into the castle. She had been using owls for an increasing variety of tasks in the more recent years, but there had been no place to put them when Clara asked Elizabeth to stay at the castle. Eric pointed out that the eastern tower hadn’t been in use for years, so he suggested that they make it into an owlery.

Now, the time it took to ascend the stairs leading to the owlery seemed longer than Clara ever remembered. By the time she burst through the tower door, Clara was light-headed from the terror whirling inside of her.

Elizabeth, who had been feeding the owls, turned sharply at the sound of the door banging open. “What in heaven’s name –”

“Elizabeth!” cried Clara, rushing forward. “Aunt Elizabeth please, you must help me.” She grasped her aunt’s hands. “Tell me you know a transportation spell. _Please_ tell me you know of one.”

“A transportation spell?” repeated Elizabeth in confusion. “Why ever would you need a...” Realization flickered over her expression, followed by alarm. “Eric.”

Clara nodded, tears pricking her eyes. “I was such a fool, Aunt Elizabeth. I should never have agreed to let him go without me.” She tightened her grip on Elizabeth. “He has _magic_ inside of him, leftover from the curse. Hoffmann says it’s very little, but it’s enough to make him a target of Amaranth.” Clara let out a choked sound of desperation. “I _must_ find him, Aunt Elizabeth. And his men.”

Elizabeth swallowed. Then she set her jaw determinedly. “Come,” she said, pulling her niece towards the owlery’s door.

They hurried back down the stairs.

“We should have known,” groaned Clara, misery coursing through her. “How could Eric and I have not considered such a possibility?”

It wasn’t as if she and Eric weren’t aware of the lingering effects of the curse. The most prominent was his arm, which – fortunately – did not bother him often. Apparently he tired more easily than before as well, but that assessment was solely based off of Eric’s opinion. As Clara had not known him before his curse, she had no basis for her own judgment. Other than that, there were no other major effects that they could discern as being leftover from the enchantment.

She never would have thought that there could have been actual _magic_ still inside of him. And even then, to think that it would invoke the hunger of a maceri witch?

“This is not the fault of either of you,” said Elizabeth, but her voice was strained.

Clara glanced at Elizabeth, and her heart ached at the fear on her aunt’s face. Though Elizabeth’s affection was of a much more motherly nature, it was no secret how much she loved Eric.

“But it is,” said Clara. “I should never have agreed to come back to the castle. I should have insisted that –”

They turned the corner of the corridor they were sprinting down – only for Clara to nearly run into Marie.

“Marie!” exclaimed Clara, stumbling to a stop.

“Mama!” Marie staggered back in surprise, her eyes wide. “Aunt Elizabeth!” She frowned at her mother and great-aunt’s flustered expressions. “What’s wrong?”

Clara tried to sidestep around her daughter. “Marie, I need you to go find Walther. Elizabeth and I have something important to tend to, but you and Walther can continue yesterday’s lessons while we –”

Marie grabbed Clara’s hand, sensing the apprehension radiating off her mother. “What is it?” Fear settled into her expression. “It’s Papa, isn’t it?”

Clara froze, staring at Marie.

“He’s in trouble,” pressed Marie. “Isn’t he?”

“What makes you say that?” asked Clara suspiciously.

Marie bit her lip. “I...”

Clara narrowed her eyes. “Marie, why do you say that?”

Marie released her mother and took a step back, guilt flashing over her face.

“Marie,” said Elizabeth. “Did someone tell you that your father was in trouble?”

“I...” Marie swallowed. Her gaze flitted anxiously between the two. “Mama, I’m sorry.”

“Oh Marie, you didn’t.” Clara reached out and grasped Marie’s shoulders. “Tell me the truth. Did you go down to the dungeons?”

Tears welled in Marie’s eyes. “I’m _sorry_.” Her words turned panicked as she tried to defend herself. “But I had to know where Papa had gone! I _had_ to! And that man said he knew.”

Clara tightened her grip on Marie. There was an undeniable spark of anger at her daughter’s disobedience – especially when such an act could have brought harm to Marie – but it was overpowered by fear of what Vogt may have told her. “Marie, what did he say to you? Did he say _why_ your papa is in danger?”

“N-no,” stuttered Marie. She blubbered out a sob, confused and frightened by the unknown danger her father was in, and her mother’s sharp tone. “No, he just said that Papa should have come back with you. That he...he was going to get himself killed.” She heaved another sob. “I’m sorry, Mama!”

Clara sighed, her vexation waning in the wake of Marie’s distress. “Oh, Marie.” She pulled Marie into an embrace. “We’re going to set this right,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her daughter’s head.

Marie nodded into Clara’s dress, unable to stop the tears that dripped down her cheeks.

Reluctantly, Clara pulled away. As much as she wished she could stay with Marie, Eric could not wait. “Marie, love,” said Clara, wiping at the tear stains on Marie’s face. “I know that you are worried about your papa, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t be more honest with you about his whereabouts. But that does _not_ give you the right to disobey me, especially when concerning someone as dangerous as Vogt.” She gave Marie a stern look. “When I come back, we _will_ discuss this more thoroughly.”

Hope flickered through the despair in Marie’s eyes. “You’re going after Papa?”

“Yes.”

“So he really is in danger.”

Clara laid a hand against Marie’s cheek, her expression strained. “Yes.” She couldn’t lie to her daughter. Not when the possibility of Eric being injured – or worse – was so high. If Eric was dead, lying to Marie would do neither of them any favors. “Aunt Elizabeth will be in charge of things while I’m gone.”

“But,” said Marie quickly. “I want to help you find Papa.”

Clara shook her head. “No, Marie. You are to stay here.” Her tone was firm, and Marie knew better than to try and argue further.

“But you’ll bring Papa back, won’t you?” asked Marie, her voice quivering. “He’ll be alright?”

Clara’s throat tightened. “I hope so, love,” she said. It wasn’t the answer she wanted to give, but giving Marie false hope if there was none seemed an even crueler deed.

“Clara...” Elizabeth said, her tone urgent.

Clara nodded and turned back to Elizabeth. Marie immediately followed her mother, though she had to run to keep up with their rapid pace. Clara did not bother trying to dissuade Marie from following them, and together the three of them hurried to Elizabeth’s chambers.

Rushing through the antechamber that connected herrooms, Elizabeth led them to the second door, which opened to her personal study. There was a desk in the center of the room that, though full of books and papers, was well organized. Bookshelves lined one wall of the study, while shelves containing various objects and spell ingredients filled the opposite wall.

Elizabeth ran her finger along the spines of the volumes on the bookshelf and yanked free a dark leather book. Clara and Marie came to either side of her, watching intently as Elizabeth flipped through it.

“Ah,” said Elizabeth. She set the book on the desk and gestured to the passage it was opened to. “Here it is.”

Marie read the passage’s title. “A transportation spell?” She looked up at her great-aunt curiously. “I’ve never seen you use a transportation spell before.”

“That’s because I rarely do,” said Elizabeth. “They are _extremely_ hard to perform, and dangerous if done incorrectly.”

“Is that why we never travel that way?” asked Marie.

“Partly,” replied Elizabeth. “It’s difficult enough transporting one person, but a _group_ of people?” She shook her head. “Only a _very_ accomplished magic user can do such a spell safely, and even then, it still is not easy. But you need not worry,” Elizabeth said, noticing Clara’s nervous expression. “Transporting you shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Shouldn’t be?” repeated Clara.

Elizabeth walked to the shelves opposite the books and began pulling down various ingredients. “You’ll be fine. At the most, you’ll feel horribly nauseous. And dizzy. Vomiting is a perfectly normal reaction to transportation, so don’t worry if you have such a reaction. Exhaustion is also to be expected for the person casting it, as the amount of energy required for a successful transportation is quite a lot.”

Clara sighed. She supposed they didn’t have much of a choice. “Very well. What can I do to help?”

“I shall prepare the spell,” said Elizabeth. “What I need from _you_ is something Eric has used recently. Something that would have a stand of his hair on it, or that he touched with his lips, like a drink glass.”

“Marie, go fetch your father’s comb,” instructed Clara. “I’m going to gather some medical supplies and food.”

Marie nodded and scampered out of the room, her golden hair swishing out wildly behind her. Clara went down to the kitchens, where Masha readily supplied her with a bag of food. Clara stuffed the food into a traveling pack, along with medical supplies she prayed wouldn’t be needed.

Hurrying to her and Eric’s bedchamber, she changed into a traveling dress and exchanged her shoes for boots. Over her dress she pulled on a coat that magically adjusted itself to fit the wearer, no matter their size. As for weapons, she chose a simple knife and a single revolver, though she did not look forward to the prospect to having to use either.

By the time Clara returned to Elizabeth’s study, Marie was already there and waiting with Eric’s comb. She was watching Elizabeth with interest, who was mixing various ingredients into a bowl that had been placed on the desk. Elizabeth held out her hand expectantly, into which Marie placed the comb. Pulling a single dark hair from the comb’s teeth, Elizabeth dropped it into the mixture.

“I’m going to have to drink that, aren’t I?” Clara asked warily.

Elizabeth smirked. “This a bit of an altered version of the transportation spell. Normally, one uses it to get to a _place_ , not a person. But since we don’t know _exactly_ where Eric is, I’m tweaking the spell so that it will bring you to _him_ , not a place. Hence the hair. It’ll help the spell know precisely whom we’re locating.” Elizabeth gave the mixture a final stir, then poured it into a mug and held it out to Clara.

Clara took the drink, frowning in distaste at the chunky liquid as it sloshed against the sides of the mug. “Now what?”

“Wait,” Marie said hastily. “Mama, wait.”

Clara paused, shifting her gaze to her daughter.

Marie bit her lip, then dug into her dress pocket and drew out a single gold coin. “It’s the coin Papa gave me, for winning the bet about my piano music,” she said, her voice small. She held it out to her mother. “Tell him that he _has_ to come home, because if he doesn’t...” Her lip trembled, and she pressed the coin into Clara’s hand. “Mama, he _has_ to.”

A sorrowful smile touched Clara’s lips. “I love you, Marie,” she said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. “So does your father.” She tucked the coin into her coat pocket. “I’ll tell him.” Sucking in a deep breath, Clara turned to Elizabeth. “Alright, what do I do?”

“First,” Elizabeth said. “We need to do something about your magic.”

“My magic?” said Clara in confusion.

“If Amaranth can sense the magic in others, _you_ , my dear, will shine like a beacon,” said Elizabeth grimly. “You will never find Eric, or get him out, without her knowing of your presence.” She tapped her chin. “We have to cover your magic somehow.”

Clara’s thoughts flickered back to the prison she had escorted Vogt from, and how her magic had been stifled there. “What about magic-suffocating handcuffs? The dungeon guards will have some. We can have them take off the chain link.”

“So they’ll be like...bracelets?” asked Marie.

Clara smiled ruefully. “In a way.”

“I suppose that could work,” said Elizabeth.

They hurried down to the dungeons, where Pyotr, though confused, did as Clara asked and removed the chain link from a pair of magic-suffocating handcuffs. Clara pocketed the key for the handcuffs, and the ladies returned to Elizabeth’s study.

Clara locked the cuffs onto her wrists, grimacing at the uncomfortable sensation of her magic being stifled. But the feeling passed, and she nodded at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth handed Clara the mug. “Since you can’t perform magic, I’ll have to do the spell for you. Just be sure you don’t move. Now drink the mixture,” instructed Elizabeth. “ _All_ of it.”

Clara lifted the mug to her lips. It was an odd smell, like something that had originally been sweet, but long spoiled. She drank it quickly, trying to ignore the chunkiness of the drink’s texture. Feeling rather queasy, Clara set down the mug.

Elizabeth gave Clara’s arm a reassuring squeeze. Then she lifted the book in her arms and read the incantation printed there. It was rather long, and in a language Clara did not recognize. As she read, Elizabeth held her hand up so that her palm was facing Clara. A warm orange glow emanated from Elizabeth’s hand, its brightness intensifying as each verse of the spell was read. Clara noticed a slight fatigue take hold of Elizabeth – the effect of the spell on the magic user performing it. But it didn’t seem to be serious, as Elizabeth continued unconcerned.

When Elizabeth finished the passage, she paused and looked up at Clara. A silent look passed between them. Of trust, reassurance...and the deepest hope. Then Elizabeth uttered a single word.

“ _Transve_ _h_ _o_.”

A muggy warmth embraced Clara’s body. Her surroundings began to blur, and Elizabeth and Marie’s faces were wiped away like smudges of paint, along with the rest of the study. A whirlwind encircled Clara, and she felt as though she was being carried away at great speed, while simultaneously being rooted to wherever her feet were. It was dizzying to be in the midst of such a violent wind, and Clara struggled to stifle the churning of her stomach.

She had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes perhaps, though it could have been hours for all Clara knew. Then suddenly, the wind died, and Clara stumbled into a dark passageway. She fumbled for the wall and clung to it for support as her head spun, sending waves of nausea through her body. For a horrible moment, Clara was sure she was going to vomit. But the feeling quelled, and she slowly straightened.

 _Well that was completely awful_ , she thought. It was no surprise Elizabeth had never suggested using transportation spells before.

Steadier now, Clara took a closer look at her surroundings. The passageway stretched on for a long ways in both directions. It was hard to see exactly how far though, as the only light was a dull, greenish glow that emanated from the walls. Even then, massive roots wound along the walls, making it difficult for the sickly light to properly illuminate the place.

A damp coldness hung in the air, and Clara tugged her coat tighter around her. Where _was_ she? Was this Amaranth’s refuge? It looked as though she were underground. Perhaps Amaranth’s home was a labyrinth of caves and passageways – an intricate maze that only Amaranth could successfully navigate.

Clara reached up to touch the locket hanging about her neck. Eric was nearby. He _had_ to be, as the locating spell was supposedly to take her to where he was. If cast properly, that is.

Her steps cautious, Clara followed the passageway. She frowned, wishing she had brought a lantern, as it was becoming more difficult to see the further she went.

With nothing beyond the green walls to guide her, she almost missed the cell embedded in the wall.

It was randomly placed, like an afterthought to the structure of the tunnels. Part of the passage swelled outward, burrowing deeper until it became a small cave that acted as a cell. The bars in front of the cell were no bars at all, but twisting roots that interlinked over each other as they stretched from the top of the cell entrance down to the floor.

Sitting on the ground inside of the cell was Eric. He was leaning against the wall, and his head had fallen forward so that his chin rested against his chest, as though he were sleeping.

Overwhelming, heart-stopping relief shot through Clara. She rushed forward, his name a cry on her lips. “Eric!”

Eric’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked about in dazed confusion. Shock seized his expression as he caught sight of her, and he lunged for the roots covering the cell entrance. Gripping them with his left hand, he used them for support as he rose to his knees.

He looked absolutely exhausted. His face was nearly colorless in its pallid complexion, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, which were dull with weariness.

“Clara?” Eric whispered in disbelief. His voice was hoarse, and he had to swallow before speaking again. “What are you doing here? How did you _get_ here?”

Clara knelt and thrust her hands through the roots. She cradled his face, stroking his cheeks and brushing the hair from his brow. He was freezing, and looked like he lacked the strength to even walk out of the cell, but he was _alive_. She sobbed, smiling shakily as she caressed him.

Eric released a shuddering breath at her touch, relief sweeping over his face. But moving across the cell seemed to have sapped any remaining energy Eric had, and he slid to the floor, feebly clinging to the roots to stay upright.

“Eric, what’s wrong?” Clara asked, frantic. She curved her hands over his, cringing at the clammy chill of his skin. “Did she take the magic leftover from the curse?”

If he was surprised by her knowing of the curse’s lingering magic, he made no sign of it. He rested his forehead against the roots. “She tried,” he murmured. “She only started before Rodolph stopped her.”

“Rodolph?”

Eric nodded. “He convinced her to take his curse’s magic instead. He took my place, Clara.” He closed his eyes, guilt radiating across his face. “I don’t know what happened to him. I passed out.” He slammed his fist against the roots, gritting his teeth. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re his king,” Clara said gently. “It’s his duty.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Eric. “He shouldn’t have sacrificed himself for me.” He sighed, looking back at her. “This wasn’t even _my_ magic she was taking; it was merely the fragments from the curse. And she only took _some_ of it. She managed to reduce me to this with only a few seconds of drawing out energy. I can’t even imagine what state Rodolph is in. If he’s even alive.”

Clara stroked her thumb over his knuckles. “We’ll find him.”

“What are you doing here?” Fresh terror flashed in Eric’s eyes, as though he only just fully realized what Clara’s presence here meant. “You can’t be here, Clara. You should be at the castle with Marie, where it’s safe. If Amaranth finds you –”

“I don’t care about Amaranth,” Clara snapped. “Marie is fine; Aunt Elizabeth is with her. I came for _you_ , Eric. I’m not leaving without you.” She gave his hand a squeeze, then sat back on her heels, studying the roots.

“They’re made with her magic,” said Eric, his voice faint from the effort of speaking so much. “I couldn’t break them.”

Though she knew it would do no good, Clara grasped the roots and yanked. When they did not give, she pulled free her knife and tried sawing through them. But the roots may as well have been made of iron; the blade did no better than her hands, and Clara quickly gave up.

She grimaced, an uncomfortable feeling pooling within her as she realized what she had to do.

Eric’s prison had been conjured with magic. It was only magic that could break it.

She glanced down at the cuffs on her wrists. Eric’s gaze followed hers, and he frowned. “Are those handcuffs?”

Despite her worry for him, she could not help an embarrassed smile. “They’re stifling my magic.”

Understanding lit in his eyes, followed by apprehension. “Clara, you can’t take them off. Not for me.” He weaved his hand through the roots, and Clara took it in both of hers. “Please, Clara. Leave. I don’t know how you got in here, but you can’t stay. You _can’t_.”

Clara bent and kissed his hand. She did not reply, as she had no answer that would please him. Releasing him, she drew out the cuffs’ key.

“Clara, don’t –”

She shoved the key into the lock of the cuff on her left wrist and turned it. The handcuff fell away, clattering to the floor. Hastily, she unlocked the second one.

Immediately, a wave of soft energy flowed through her. She gripped the roots for balance, shuddering as her magic surged back to awareness.

Eric sighed in frustration, staring at her wrists grimly.

Feeling revitalized by the returned warmth of her magic, Clara stuffed the cuffs and the key into her bag. She rose to knees and grasped the roots once more. Closing her eyes, she let out a long breath.

_Focus._

She reached out, feeling for the magic coursing through the roots.

A coldness trickled over her.

Amaranth’s magic...it felt wrong.

Murky, like a smog cast over the mind. Misshapen, like a molding of things put together that should not have been combined.

Clara frowned. She felt... _dirty_ touching the distorted magic.

How to free the roots of it?

She set her jaw, her knuckles whitening from the ferocity of her grip on the plants.

_Focus._

She willed her own magic to seep out onto the roots. To blanket Amaranth’s cold magic in her warmth. To loosen its tightness and shake its solidity.

_Release your hold._

Seconds passed, each one longer than the previous as Clara struggled to overcome Amaranth’s magic. She had never encountered such strength before. It was a shock to feel, and Clara wondered at it, as Amaranth’s magic was nearly all stolen.

How could it be so powerful?

Clara gritted her teeth.

_Release your hold._

Slowly, the coldness ebbed. Warmth throbbed to life in the heart of the magic clogging the roots, and it spread outwards, sending a vibrant green through the rotten brown. The roots shuddered, then broke from the ceiling and fell to the ground.

Clara’s eyes snapped open. A gasp of relief burst from her, and she flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around Eric. He flinched beneath her touch and, alarmed, Clara pulled away. “What is it?”

“My arm...” he murmured.

Clara looked down at his right arm, which hung limply at his side. She cringed; she should have expected it to be bothering him. “How bad is it?” she asked.

Eric did not respond, looking unsure how to answer in his muggy state.

Clara brushed his brow once more, utterly miserable at seeing him so disoriented. “Never mind.” She helped Eric rest against the cell’s wall, then dug into the bag at her side and pulled out a lemon drop. “Eat this.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “Candy, Clara?”

She almost smiled. Almost. Clara tilted her hand, and the lemon drop rolled to the center of her palm. She blew onto the candy, and it glowed with a soft, shimmering light. Satisfied, Clara pressed it into Eric’s good hand. “There.”

He put it in his mouth. At first, nothing seemed to happen. But gradually, as he ate, the weariness dissipated from his face. His skin steadily lost its pallor, darkening to its normal tan, and the blue of his eyes brightened with alertness. Clara kept one hand behind his shoulder and the other on his left arm, supporting him as she waited for the magic to run its course.

Eric inhaled sharply, though it was not a sound of pain. He looked up at Clara and smiled, his expression no longer bearing signs of weariness. Assured that the candy’s reviving magic had worked, Clara pulled him into a fervent embrace. Eric wrapped both of his arms around her in response, and a wave of relief flowed through Clara at the familiarity of his returned strength.

He threaded his hand through her hair, holding her steady as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You shouldn’t have come,” he whispered. “But thank you.”

She turned her head and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She kept it brief though, knowing that they could be discovered at any moment, now that Clara had performed magic. “You protect me, and I protect you,” she answered, brushing her fingers against his cheek. A frown curved her lips. “You’re freezing, Eric.” She set aside her bag and began shrugging off her coat.

“Clara, don’t, I’m fine –”

Clara ignored him, draping the coat over his shoulders. Reaching into its front pocket, she pulled out Marie’s coin.

“Here,” she said, handing the coin to him. “Marie wanted me to give you this. She says you _have_ to come home. So I don’t want to hear any more of this self-sacrificing nonsense. Your daughter is waiting for you.”

Eric smiled. He closed his hand over the coin, the thought of their daughter filling him with renewed determination. Slipping the coin back into the coat pocket, he nodded. “Let’s go find the others.”

Clara stood and helped Eric to his feet. She took his hand in hers and together, they stepped into the passageway.


End file.
